


Life may be a game (but I make my own rules)

by KillingJoke98



Series: Rewrite fate, reject destiny. [2]
Category: Tokyo Ghoul, 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: And I break the canon, Angst, BAMF Kaneki Ken | Sasaki Haise, BAMF Midoriya Izuku, Blood and Gore, Despite all the bad tags this won't be that bad, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I take the canon, Kaneki is Midoriya Izuku, Mental Health Issues, Midoriya Izuku Does Not Have One for All Quirk, Multi, Overpowered Kaneki Ken, Overpowered Midoriya Izuku, Tags...tags...what tags to put?, The world won't know what hit it, Then I eat the remnants for breakfast!, Vigilante Kaneki Ken, Whatever I suppose, Why isn't overpowered kaneki a tag?, i think, reboot!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:27:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25860577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KillingJoke98/pseuds/KillingJoke98
Summary: Midoriya Izuku. The 9th holder of One for All. Someone who smiled in the face of danger. The child who picked up his broken dream and fixed it even as it tore him apart. The hero who would usher in a new age of peace. Dead. Story ended before it could truly begin.Kaneki Ken. The One-Eyed King. Someone who dived headfirst into madness. The child who walked through life believing that if he was the only one to be hurt, all would be fine. The monster forged in the blood of innocents and the truth of the world. Dead. Story ended before it could reach its happy ending.In one world, a green-haired boy would take his final step off a building. His last thought was that he would finally be able to meet his mother again. In another, a white-haired man would cradle the body of his beloved as the world burned around them. His last thought was that he could finally rest.The boy stands firm, resigned. The man stands tall, furious. He rages against the powers that had ripped a young boy from life and himself from his loved ones.And wins.Or in other words, seven minutes after Midoriya Izuku dies, Kaneki Ken opens his eyes.
Relationships: Bakugou Katsuki/Consequences - Relationship, Kaneki Ken and Bakugou Katsuki, Kaneki Ken and Class 1-A, Kaneki Ken and Eri, Kaneki Ken and Everyone, Kaneki Ken and Midoriya Izuku, Kaneki Ken and Todoroki Rei, Kaneki Ken and Todoroki Shouto, Kaneki Ken and Uraraka Ochako, Kaneki Ken/Eternal Pain
Series: Rewrite fate, reject destiny. [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1875055
Comments: 63
Kudos: 389





	1. Bird Song

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite of my previous story, but should be considered a separate entity. To those who have decided to continue following me as I journey, thank you. To those that are new, I hope you enjoy your stay. And to those that support me...
> 
> Thank you all.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you know what happens to gods kid?” Kaneki asked while gently nudging the green-haired boy behind him. Mutely, Midoriya shakes his head, eyes still trained on the things towering over them. Kaneki laughs, a sharp sound that cuts through the silence and static. 
> 
> “They get forgotten. Fade away. And sometimes, once in a while, when the stars are aligned and the wind blows true…” he draws a blade from beneath his coat and holds it loosely in his right hand, “someone kills them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back? 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j0WnEeSK-mY
> 
> BTW this video isn't of my creation. It's just beautiful and I wanted to show people its beauty.

When Kaneki opens his eyes, he blinks almost curiously at the vast expanse of white in his field of vision. Casually getting to his feet, the man stretches briefly, testing his limbs for any traces of the injuries that had finally brought about his end. Phantom pain sears at his nerves as he remembers how they had been firebombed, the CCG and ghouls struggling to survive as buildings crumbled around them, still locked in combat even as the timer counting down to their collective deaths edges even closer to zero. With Tokyo evacuated, the governments of the world had decided to cut their losses. Just like how regions ripe with infection in a plague would be purged, they had decided that the best course of action was a baptization in fire. Destroy everything and start anew. Still, they had pressed on, refusing to give up. Not after everything they had sacrificed. Not after everyone who had perished to ensure they got that far. He paused, scrubbing furiously at his eyes as the slack, dead face of Touka-chan was drawn out from his mind by his act of reminiscence. He had thought that there was nothing else, no one else for him to lose. His mom was long dead and gone. Anteiku had been burned to the ground, ashes scattered to the wind. Hide had gone missing after their encounter, leaving behind a faint taste of blood(sweet, with a hint of an energy drink that his friend would constantly consume during finals). The Quinx, and by proxy, the CCG had turned on him once Haise Sasaki had been discarded in favour of his true identity. Arima, the closest thing he had to a father was dead. 

He had lost everything. Still, it appeared that his everything wasn’t enough for the world. Kaneki tried not to be bitter about that. The man had already made his peace with the fact that the world was wrong, cruel even, an almost sentient entity that delighted in breaking the strongest of people and making sure that evil never rested. Absentmindedly, he wondered if he was in the afterlife, a small thrum of anticipation at seeing his family again coursing through his veins as he shook the dark thoughts from his mind and walked forward briskly. Kaneki followed the trail of spider lilies, those behind him wilting away and turning to dust even as fresh ones bloomed. It was odd even if you considered that this was the afterlife, but there was also the chance that this was one last hallucination before his brain gave up the fight. His skin prickled and the finely honed danger sense that he had developed began to warn him about multiple things lurking, waiting for the time to strike. Concerning, especially when there wasn’t a shadow in sight. Nevertheless, his fingers glossed over the blade at his side, the urge to put on the mask currently resting against his chest building the longer he walked. In the corner of his eye, he noted the vaguely beast-like things that were stalking him, a mishmash of various creatures. Chimeras. His eye ached briefly, RC cells stirring underneath his skin in response to his emotions, waiting for his command. A smile flickered across his face for the briefest of moments before it was snuffed out by the presence of a grip on his sleeve. 

Pivoting on a single foot even as his hand went for his weapon, Kaneki stopped mid-draw when his eyes met those of a child. The white-haired man quickly sheathed his sword, muttering an apology even as his brain raced to catalogue the boy before him. Startling green hair and eyes. A light dusting of freckles on a face that had just begun to lose its baby fat. Frail, not in the way a coma patient was, but in the way an abused child was. Briefly, his mind brought him back to a time where he spent hours curled up on a cold floor, crying softly. He noted the faded burn scars(like someone had pressed small firecrackers to his limbs and lit them), and the way the kid held himself. Ready to fold like a piece of wet paper before a storm. His stomach churned unpleasantly as long suppressed memories threatened to break the barriers he had carefully erected and reinforced over the years. Bending down slightly so that he was able to see eye to eye with the child before him, Kaneki asked the first question to come to mind. 

“What’s your name kid?” the green-haired child blinked at him slowly, seemingly confused at the gentleness he was currently met with. Kaneki felt a flash of empathy mixed with cold anger and made sure to suppress the darker parts of his mind so that he wouldn’t frighten the only other living being he had found in here(and as he struggled to rein them in, his mind went back to the sick feeling in his gut when Touka-chan first witnessed the monster he had become and the look of mounting horror on her face). His efforts were not in vain, for the teenager relaxed almost imperceptibly. 

“Midoriya Izuku, sir.” a flicker of amusement coursed through him before he let out a soft laugh, slowly reaching out to brush gently at the messy curls on top of Midoriya’s head. He jerked back slightly in surprise, but after it was clear that Kaneki was doing nothing more than untangling his hair, the boy began to lean into the touch with a pleased hum. They stood like this for a minute or two, the older man carefully brushing strands of hair with nimble fingers while the younger boy closed his eyes and hummed at the sensations. They were snapped out of their brief reverie by the sound of laughter. Kaneki grimaced as the shrill noise pierced his sensitive ears, removing his hands from Midoriya’s hair but not getting up. Turning his head slightly, the only physical indicator of his surprise was a single twitch of his left eye. The kid squeaked, but stayed rooted to the spot. Trembling. 

Where there had just been white emptiness was two abnormally large entities. They wore hooded cloaks, but movement underneath them coupled with his hyperfocused state allowed him to catch a glimpse of what appeared to be a tentacle briefly escaping the robes of the one on the left. Mouth suddenly dry, he tried to make out any defining features, only for static to creep into the edges of his vision. Grimacing, Kaneki stopped trying, standing up and brushing off imaginary dust from his knee. His instincts had gone quiet. Either that meant that these two were not a threat to himself and Midoriya...or judging by the impending sense of doom he sensed looming over them like the scythe of the Grim Reaper itself, they were powerful enough that his baser instincts had promptly curled up into a ball and was currently hoping that they wouldn’t squash him like a gnat. 

**"̴̨͉̜̞̯̯̝͒H̵̭͍͕̤̠͎̓̃̒͑͌̔̍̒͠ͅe̴̝̣̤̓͒ḻ̴͚͍̦̹̳̠͖͘l̷̨͚̪̘̭̞̬͈̼͊̎͑̃͐̈́̚͠ŏ̶͙͍̞ ̸̢̹͖̹͉̖̠̹͗͗̋̊̈́͘͝͝ͅp̶͚̆̏ì̴͉̍̽̔̋ȩ̵̧̛͚̠̱̺͎̏̊͗̓͌͐c̷͓͎͙̦̩̩̤͇̥̺̎̈́̑̀͘ͅe̷̢̙͔̬͐̒̚̕s̵̢̡͎͍̞̘̣̲̥̀.̸̺̙̥̭̺͓̤̟̻̲͓̗͆͐̔̒͗͛͠͝͝"̵̦̩̖̩̠̲̟̮̯̮̒̕**

  
  


“Pieces?” he asked, hand already reaching for the sheathed sword attached to his hip. However, with a simple wave of a hand hidden by a sleeve, his hand felt leaden and useless, as if gravity had increased abruptly. He stopped his action, mind racing for a way out of the situation and feeling dread pool in his gut when he came up empty. The right one, who had first spoken, tilted its head almost mockingly at his question. 

**"̷͓͔̩͕̬̙̫̫͇̄͊̾͌̏̊̋̍͒̽̎W̵̺͍͎̭̓̒̐̇͛̑̇͝ḩ̴͔͕̣̮͍͙̟̭̮̄͛͌͂̄̈́̓͊a̸͎̳̥̖͔͇̝̦͙͇̻̼͗̊̓t̷̡̺̮̰̻͉͚͖͓̘͑͐̉͛̈́͐͝ ̸̰̣͈̥̈̉e̷̝͂̂̑͊̏͝l̸̨̲͖̞͈̠̊̈́̽̈̈́̚s̶̨̥̫̼̪̣͆̉ę̶̨̛̛͕̩̜̩͇̘͛̾̎̇͝ͅ ̵̧̛̛̭̟̖̜̥̣̳͍͑̐̍͊̓͛͒̏̕w̵̨̛̯̳̰̝͔͎̤̲͍̘̔͗o̷̢̢͈̘̙̯̦͎͛̒͂͐́̓̈́͝͠͠u̸͈͖͚̯̎͌ḽ̸̡̙̜̟̙̠̤̤̪̼̫͂̃́̿͝d̴̩̗̫̄̊̅̂̅̾ ̷̡͐͑͆͝w̷̢̧̛͈͓̳̜͕͈̞͂̄͒͐̆̃̏̚̚͠͝e̷̼̝̜̯̞̖̝̮̦̕ ̵̻̓͐͑̃̿͠͠c̷̣̊̓̒͛̈͛̿͘͘͜ͅa̶̢̧̱̱̩̪̻͈̙̳̯̝̐̈̉̿̈́̃̽͌̔̓͘̕ḽ̵̟͖̼̻͓͕̱̥̻͕̏̚l̴͓̄̒̊̌͂̋͊̓̒̚ ̸̢̛̲̻̺̙̘̰̈́̋̾͐̊̈́̈̚̚y̸̡͓̫̺͕̮̠͍͊̓͛̆ͅͅơ̵̞̥͑́̍̄̿̈́̈́͝͝ǘ̷̧̡͇͓̥̻͉͂̈́̽̐̀̍͝͝͝?̸̝̯͔̮͉̥̩̄͒͊ ̴̨̛̫̼̲̘̦͚̣͖̝́̄͛́͐̔̈́͝Ẅ̵͈͛̉͊̓̽͛̈͑̀̚ě̴̡͎̘̩͔̫̉̃̏͝͝ ̵̨̟̘̜̯͚̏̒̇̈̈́̏̃̚̕ͅȁ̶̭̯̼̖͚̈́̑̓̄̐̉̄̒̿̃̋ͅr̸͙̝̲͍͙̍̿̅̌̒̅̏͐̕͘͠͠e̵̝̔̒ ̴̳̤̃͌͗̔̏̊͛̊̏͘̕t̴̘̲̩̫̜̟̉̀̕h̵͔̊͌̿̃̓̋ê̶̥͚͎̯̪͈͓͚̤͖̗͚͐̄͊̎̔̈́ ̴̡̨̩͚̥͎̙͐̆̃̈́̈́͒͋̕ǫ̴̣͙͖̖̥͂ņ̶̡͈̖͈̜͚͕͚̖́̄̔̒͂̊̔ͅę̵̯̼̺̽̌̃̃s̵̢̳̟͎͈͙̟̝̀ ̵̨̠̜̰̖͔͔͚̲͈̔͒̅̌͑̉̾͐̏͘͠͠w̸͉̯͕̪͙̬̩͇͒h̴̪͖͓͔̀̋͋̔͛͜ǫ̷͆̆̈́͗̈́̑̌̎̀̃͘ ̷̩̫̖͌͒̏͊̈̄̕̕͠ͅc̷̝̗̻̻̘̬̉͗ä̴̡̭̭̫͉͉m̸̜̜͖̠̹͆͋͗͜e̴̢̛̱̖̹̗̗̙̫̻̜͉͗̇̇̍̅̊ ̵͕̫͔̼͉̞̺͎̭̜͇̓̒̀̈́͝͠ḃ̶̩̟̲̑͝e̵̢̮̪̬͚̻̝̙̪͈̺̅͜ḟ̷͔̬̥̃͗̅ȍ̶̡̡̖̲̼̣̫͚͎͓̯͛͒͘̕ŗ̴̘͍̲̰͕̫̻̗̈́͌̓̊̇̉̂̐̕͝e̸̫̻̔̐̾͠.̴̜̗̻̟̗͕̰̺͂͊̄̆̑̇͋̄͆̽͜ ̸̛̦̼̰̠̬̯̮̠̄̾̓͆̇̑̏̈̉͝ͅͅW̵̗͍̮̣̫̮̙͔͒͜ͅẻ̵̫̘͙̤̜̬̀̕ ̵̝̻̍̿͂̓̓͐̿̇͒̆̇̕ă̴̺͎͓̻̗̫̓̽̍ŗ̵̛̩͎̺͚̰͒͗͗̅͛̒̓͗͘͠͝e̸̪̝̗͓̘͕̰̥̺͖̅̓̃̅̾̇ ̵̧͙̱̯͚͌͋̔̓̃̄͒́̕͠y̴͚̻͓͠o̸̢̢̧͇̟̣͎̺͓̒̇̏̊̇̎̊̕͝͠u̵̝͔͕̳͉͇͔̰̦̼̞͂̉̋͛̇r̷͎̥͓̯̣̜͑̽ ̴̧͚͕̞̞͔͇̬̓ͅf̴͎̯̺̈́̆͜a̵͎͍͖͚͐̏̓͛̑t̶̨̗̹̞̞̦̘̯̥͖̎̍̽̑̈́̊͂͂͐̚̚͠ͅe̸̙͊͝,̸̭̭̗͈̝̞̅͋̌̋̃͘ ̶̲̥̥͙̠̠̳̺͉̔̃̏̚͜y̴̬̓̕ô̵̧̨̩͉̫͈͍̘̥̻̠͜ṵ̶̞̦̼̲͈̱̉̋͋̓̽̓͐̿̀r̵̨̝̻̬̝̠̮̈́ ̴͇̼̬̟̜͈̥̎̋̃͂̂̾͘͝d̷̢̡̲̲͕̠͎̯̞̃̾͜ȅ̴̬̬̟͓̞̤͎̯̼͛̈͋̏̍s̴͙̪̅̓̿͂̌̒͆̾͘t̷̡͍̯̮̱̉̄̽̏͌̔̏̽͘͝i̵̡̧͎̰͓̩̲̭̠͔͑̾̇̽̐͊̏̓̕͠ǹ̵̛͕͉͐̈́̒̋͒͐̈̍̌͝ỹ̵̤͚̟͓̭̜̳̎̓́͘.̸̣̹̳̮͙̮͗̿̇͂ ̸̛̳̠̯̖͚̗͙̭̃͐̊͊̂͂͑̽͝W̴̧̙͔̞̖̯͍̯͖̖̞̽̄̐̏͗̓̈́̾̉̽̑͠ͅe̶̥͓͉̖͗̒̀̊̊̇̑̿́͆̔ ̴͙̰̣̙̰̝͊a̶̢͙͓͉̩̲̬͚͎̠͍͙͛̎͂̉̍̾͌͋͘͝͠ŗ̷̡̪͚͕̮̝̜̓̒e̴̢͓̹͙͚̮̱̾̌̓̈́͒̿̕̚ ̵͈̫̥̫̗̟̩͎͎̑͗̃͊͜ǐ̵̮̰̺̳͕̱̦͉̼̈́̊̚͠ň̴̨̖̜̥͙̲̟͓̦̖̇͒͗̍́̒͝ ̵͔͖̙̰̘̘́͋̀̎̇͐̓̒̈c̴̨̨̛̗͔̣͈̲͖̘̐͗̒͋̋̈́̈́̐o̵͙̦̺̖͇̼̹͋̉̈̄͂̚͝͝n̴̢̖͈̗̩̭͚͚̠̺̠̂̀͘t̵̟̻̗́̌̍͊͊r̵̻͖̞̥̱̉͂̔̆̋͒͐ờ̶̰̲̈́̀̊̔̈̇̽̅͠l̵̢̛͙̪̳͕̟̺̲̰̀̄̊̑͐̑͝.̵̡̢̛̲̺̜͕̳̟͌̍̆̅̔͂͛͊"̵̯̞͚̺̝̩͚͚̯̲̞̏́̋̇̇**

  
  


“While that’s nice and all, why am I here? Why is this kid here?” Kaneki almost slapped himself when the words escaped from his mouth, mentally cursing his inability to remain docile and submissive. The other figure chuckled, a sound that reminded him of computer glitches and torn throats, made from the screams of those lost on the battlefield. A snap of abnormally long and crooked fingers lead to images flashing before his eyes, ones containing the child he held and his story. Midoriya Izuku. From another world. Abused. Shunned. His possible future was overturned by the death of his mother in a villain attack. Died alone and at peace, bleeding out in an alleyway where no one would find him, even if it had taken him three minutes to finally pass on. The apprehension in his system was quickly replaced by rage, mounting rage that only continued to build as the one on the left spoke. 

**"̴͇̎̏̽̍̽̆͗͊͒̚̚͝M̴̡̞̻̣͖̬̽͆̅͝ï̸̡̫̱͈̮̲̭̮̱͔̕̕ͅd̸̛̫͊̓̉̑͒̀o̴̤̥͛̈́̈́̀͗͐͒r̴̡̢̝̞̝̖̩͖͉͗̈̕i̶̠̹̭͔̣̲̩͖͋̎͂͝y̶͖̹̳͓͐̾͂̒͠͝a̸̜̹̟̟̟͙̙͒̈͜ ̶̘̂̾̊͒̏̂͗̏̒̒̽͘I̵͇̗̰̭̺̮̦̱̼͍̋z̷̧̤̺̩̼̥̻̓͛ų̵͔̺̣͚̥̙̘̆̆̆͝k̶̩͚̳̆̈̓̈́͜ư̸̡̧̦̠̻͋̓̑̌͊̎̕͝.̴͕̫̦̤̏̋͛́͑͊̋͆͛̚̕ͅ ̵̲̟̋̔͆͒̐̕̕W̶̖͈͗̾̀͊̽̏͆̕e̴̗̮͇̘̻̠̝͕̲̺̻͛̉͋͘̚ ̷̡̡̛̟̙̱͖͆́̀̑͌͜͝h̷̛̝̠̘̰͚͂̋̾̓̌̈́̽̉̓̚͠a̵̳̮̍̐̏d̸̨̧̯̻̼̮̻́̋ ̴͉̻̟̺͓͈̳̲̣̥̮̝̋͌m̷̼͕̥̤̓̊͜ä̴͙̙̘́́̈́͐͒̉͒͋̚͠n̷̥̯͇̲̳͕͓̚ẏ̴̫̬͇̉̋̈́͜ ̸̱̦̤͝p̵̛̹͉̗̓͑͒͆̈́ļ̶̦̙̘̩̭̜̖̝̟͌̎̓͆̓̾͋̃͆̍̚ͅå̷̲̉̓n̵̫̭̖̳͙̮̩̝͎̰̕s̷̻̩̯̩̰̗̑̽̀̋͌̕ ̸̪̋̽̇̆͘ḟ̷͍̜̗͖̞̤̲̱͔̪̬̂̅̄̂̀̈́͂̚̚ͅo̴͉̼̳͓͚̠͍̗̰̜͗̽̈́̔͐̑̚̕r̷̢̢̥͓̣͗̃̈́̿͐̿̕̕̚͝ ̴̧̡̮̬̮͇̮̣͈͗͗͛̔̑̅͒̋̚͜͠h̴̢̫̮͕͓̜̟͓͌̿̍̀̋̄į̴̡̞̲̺͚͈͎̈́̈́̊̐̑̓̿̄̿̀̚m̷̳̖̫͉̥͔̝͈̐̂͋̒͝.̴̧̝̮̣̄̇̌̇̓̊̆ͅ ̸̨͕͍̲̼̺̺̌́̏̐͜ͅḄ̵̡̗̬̆̓̍̈́u̵͕̳̒̍͐̑̓͛͌͊͝t̷̥͔͖͈͌͑̃͑̃͒̔̑̈́͑͠ ̴̌ͅh̵̨̨̫̦̦͇̜̲̹̼̓̈̂͌͠e̷͓̙̟͇̳̝͚̣̮̘͙͆͒͝ ̴̛͕̯̫̳͂̓̆̉̋̒̀̉͠͝ì̸͍̻̼̞̃̋͗̂̆͌͆͂͝s̶͖͈̥͝͠ ̶͇͔͇̻̥̪̦͓̟̝̒͌̄͗̏̈́̃͂̉͘t̷͕̥͈̟̟͕͚̭̖̺̯͎͌̃͗̃̇̿͠o̶̦̠͔̜͌̌͑̕̚̕õ̸̧̜̤̪̺̭̯̙̣̇͗͒̐̾̌̇̏̌ ̵̻͉̠̌̍̋͐̽͂̍͌̓̑̚w̶̢̡̗̩̣͎̳͐̕ę̴̳͕̜̠̂̽̽̑̈́a̴̧̬͖̲̻̥̮͙̩̹͎̅́̆̌͜k̴̢͇͙̻̘̺̠̅̕͜.̴̣̰̰̤̥͉̼͕̩̍̐͂͋͌̈́̃̈́͝ ̸̡̢̟̭̣̻̻̫̻̣́͜W̷̗̞̰̣͖͓̋̾̄̔̔͋̑̅̽̈͆͘e̵̛̜̳͙̦̓͋̅̐̐̏͝͠ ̴̰̣̞̳̲̰̃̆̆̓͗̔̊̒́͝͝l̴̞̩̱͑͂̍̄͒̓͌̚͠o̴̢̲͙̝͈̠͕͗̆̉̃ơ̶̞͓̥̮͓͐̈́̉̂͗̾̉̕͝k̴͚͍̰͍̞̳͇̆͊͆͗͜e̴͈̻͖̜͇͕͉͔̲̼̅̂͒͋̀̂̏̈́̆̄̐d̶̝͌͝͠ ̵̢̨̝͔̯͍̟̦̩̘̙̽̈̊̔̏̋͛͜͝f̶̧̟̖͇̭̐̎̌̿̾̋̐ͅo̶̯̦̻̼̓̈́̾ŗ̴̱̱͉̟̞̤̋́̾͒ ̴͓͇͔̩̟̝̮̺̇̃͜͝s̷͔̼̤̐͌̊̈͛ọ̴͐͛̓̇̔͗̕͝m̴̛̤̯̭͐͊e̵̢̖̲̙̜̽̈́̾̏̿̓͊̽͐̆̿͘o̵̢̢̥̤̲̱̝͇̜͙͖̥͋͂̓̂̾͝n̶̡̡̡̡͓͖̙̲̟̖̯̤͊̋̒̈̈́͆̈́e̶̹̓͑̃͗̚͜ ̷̧̡̹͎̈́̽͛͌̅̓̿̆̌͘͝s̶̥̬̤͍̖̭̋̎̓̒́̾t̷̡̛̤̯̘͙̒͋̋̽̓͂͌̅̓̈́̈r̸̢̨͈̗͉̝̝͈̟̣̳͉̓͊̋̿̑̇ǒ̷̯͍̯̤͒ņ̷̳̼̪̞̹̠͈͔͖̭̓̚͜͠g̷̢̨̰͎͕̮̼̙͒ę̴̨̰̬̗̫̻̩̠̉͑̄̐͆͝͝͝ͅr̵̡̟̝̱͚̤̀̈ͅ.̶̟̺̘̐̈́͝ ̷̱̬̹̈̈̊͆̈́̕W̸̲̣͙̖̖̪͓̤̳̔̐̔̐̅͋̆̚͠͝e̴̺̤̭͔̘̻̰͉̓͋͝ ̵̰͔̹̙͖̀͋f̵͔̈͊̍̍ǫ̶̘̫̖͉̦̱̞̞̥̊͝ủ̴̧͉̗̖̪̙͔̱̾̑̒͌̔̑̃́n̶̨̟̖͈̾̀̾̌͊̒͐̊̂͐̕d̵̨̩̦͈͖̅͗̈́͠͝ ̷̥̤̬̮̣̣̖͈̲͋̈̏̅̔̋̐y̸͈͔͎̋͋͑͊́͋̂͆̈́͝͠o̷̡̰̱̼̬͓̜̳̞̚ű̴̬̹̝̩̯͕͔́͆̀̈̔͒̄͆̿͋͝.̴̤̙͇̭̘̥̱̲͍̜̬̣̈̄̌͐̅̐̈̚͠ ̸̛̤͉͙̫̖̳̞͈̻̲͕̉̊͊̏͌̈́͋̈́̾̚Y̷̭͇̻̰͉̪͒̇̃͐͒̾͑̕̕͠ŏ̸̢̯̹͕̟̟̘͍̭̪͔u̸͖̯̍͌̀͛̇̒ ̶̼̼͎̦̬͎̜̙̄̃̂͝ͅẘ̶͉̳̩i̶̛̹̯͖̪̻̹̖̒̈́̋̒̇̇̓̈́̓͠ͅl̷͖͔̲̬̥͌̋͋l̴̢͓͎̩͚̤͈̮͕̜̈́̆͌͗̉̊͌͌̋̐̚͜ ̷̛̺̫̙͙͔̎̓̋ț̶̥̾̄̂͌͘͜ȁ̴̘͇̝̺̼̇̿̃̈̅̎k̵̨̡̥͈̬͕̝̯̞̦̗̗͂̅̈̇̂̈́̌̾̀̅͘e̶̛͍͕̗̬̻͋̿̈̀͘͠ ̵̹̞̹̮͖̩̮̮̑̈́͌̈́̎̿̕͜ͅh̷͓͍͗̈́͛̿̓͂̂̃̀̍̈́͜͠i̷̡̨̖̯̩̳̳̋̍̆͋͋̿̿̌̒̌ͅs̷̡̥̗̞̳͛̒̀̆̌̅̆̅͋͊̚ ̴̯͐͋̈̌͘p̵̢͎͔̖̭͇̰̜̈́̓̒́͑̋͑̚͜͝l̶̨͉̲̟̭̦͒́͜a̴̡͔̮̝̭̥̻̒͛̓̐̎͆̃͐͝͠ͅc̷͍̮̰̗͆͋͗͌e̵̡̜̞̣̘̮̤͓̻̞̓̒̽͆̔̉͒̍̾͘͜.̵̘̼̗̝̫̈́͐̓͂́̏̕͘"̸̯̖͉͉̟̹̜̫͐͜**

  
  


“Take his place you say. You subject a child to torture, ever since he turned four, watched him be beaten down and stand up over and over and say that he is  **too weak** ?” he felt his survival instincts screaming for him to stop opening his mouth, but Kaneki did what he had always done whenever the primal part of him tucked its tail between its legs and urged him to do the same. Ignore it. 

**"̷̛͓̐̾̈̎͌̔̋̀̈́̽͠Ȋ̵̦̠̰͚̮̬̘̽͂̾ņ̵̟͍͖̭̞̗̾͘ ̴͍̭̆a̵͈̭͔͎͓̗̹̙͊̔̓̅́̇̾̉͝n̵̻͉̼͎̺̈́o̴̪̺̍͌̾̄̉̏̍͒͘͝ͅt̴̲͒̂͒͗̈̐̋h̵͈̍̿̋̂̒̆̎͝ȩ̵͎̺̼̦̼̩̥̖̭̍͒̌̇̐̓̌̂̒͒̕͜͜͝r̵̨̛͖̽̍͆̅̍̋͒̉ ̴͔̜̤̝͗ţ̵̯͎͕̖̳̬͙͂̐͝ī̴̻m̸̦̥̭̮̱͍͂͋̀͜ͅe̸̢͚̠̼͔̹̭̗͇̖͗̚,̶̤͚͍̩̟̰̩͎̈́̾͒͂̂͘͜͝ ̸͇͖̫͍̥̆͌̌͠h̷̫̮̑̂͛͋͑͆̕e̸̛͍̱͑̀̓͘̕ ̴̣̙̗̥͕̲̝̮͚̫̖̂̏̂̂̈́͌̇͘͝w̴̛̙̥̱̎͆͑̃̀͛̓́̈̒̕ơ̸̤̖͒̔̂̈́̑̆͂ú̸̮̱͔͓̼̼̠̬̿̇͗̑̽̂̏̚l̸̥̥̥͠d̴̫̬̎̌̍͑͆͋͋̃̏̽͝ ̸̛̖͉͎̟̜͎̻̞͔̹̩̄͒̏h̶̼̺̦͎̳̝̫̍̐̉͆̀̆͂͠ạ̷̦͕̮̞̱̞͍͔͂͑̐̏͂͗̋̍̃̉̋͠v̵̦̝͉̱̙͈͈̯̉͌̆͘e̵͍̺̒́̎͒̕͠ ̴̖̟̰̹̖̮̣̫̌ͅs̴̪̹̺͍͒͒̿ȕ̶̠̫̀̂̾̄r̷̡̬̝̹̞͇͚͗̂̆̐͠v̸̧̧̥͚̭̹͇̹̏̓̐̒̉̑͂̉̅̆̚i̸̛̜̊́̔͊͊͆͌͗͘v̷̛͎͎̹̣̙̝͕͕̞̊̓͑͂ͅẽ̸̠̲̮̰͇̹͖̱̻̈̅̒͗͂̚d̸̨͍̜̭̭͈̳̤̙̰͗̊̃̾͗̀̊̒.̶͕͔͙̭̩̚ ̴̢̢̼͍̰̺̞͙͖̊̊̈́͐͊̒͌̔͘H̴̨͉͎͎̯̞̫͕̟͕͋̔̇̈́̃͌̽̕ͅi̸͔̳̰͍͇̣͗̉̂̓̕ͅͅs̴̯̯͙̺̣̼͕͂̈́̐̄͝ ̴͚̤̗̞̯͇̊͑́͂̄͆̃͑͜͝ş̷̲̣̫̠̞̰͈̬̈t̷̺̣̯̪͝o̸̧̡̹̱̯̟̙͖̼̫͐͆̋̆̐͜͝r̶͙̈y̴̛̫̪̺̻̍̃ ̸̱̯̺̫͍͈̻̰̫͚̙̽̑͠ͅw̶͕̩͎͓̩̲͐̈̆͊̾͛͐̏̃ö̶̢̪̫̥̬̦̠̲͕̗̙́͒̔͘͝u̸̧̫͕͓͔̯̩̙̞̖̲̅̈́̏̓̄͒͂̈́͌͠l̸̢̼̭̫̦̤̠̠̻̦̺̞͐̈̀̾͝d̷̘̤͕̊͊͆̾̈̈͌͒̌͂̑ ̵̦̙͋̔̐̇̚h̸̦̻͖̽͛͛͛͘a̸͓̩̬̥͒̒̑̚͠v̴̛͎̘̰̫͈͙̝͚͈͔̠͗͜e̵̬̞̮̲̺̞̅̈́͠͝ ̵̠͎̯̯̠͕̩̭̥͇̳̯̊̂͒̃̆́̉̃̾͑s̴̡̨̡̛̪͎̟͈̖͇̓̈̐̓̐̈́͋a̸̺̦̦̗͈̱̓̋̅t̷̡̞̄̅̇i̸̳̣̪͐̅ͅs̸̳̞̹͔͉̙̎̍̔̇f̵̛̱̜̥̝̘̺̘̻̰̱̾͐̋̄̔̒̌͑͝ͅi̶͎̦̱̤̊͂̓̓̈́̾͑̏ȩ̷͕͙͙̞̘̯̹̤͛̓̿͌̃̆͋͊͘d̴̡͕̩͐̈ ̵̤̖̓̉̏͠ȕ̶̧̖͙̱̰͙̼̦̜͓̤̠̔s̶̨̙̬̱̞̜͇̲̪̱̱̈́̈́̂͌̐̎͘.̷̡̝͔͔̩̞̘̲͇̘̞̩̋̃͊̇͐̽͐̐̚ ̶̨̳̦̱̖̺͓̔̎̔̐̋̿͌̇͆͂͆͜T̵̝͋̌̆͂̿̐̊̆̕ḩ̸̞̹͕̹̻͎̙͉̼̙̇̎̋͒̑͂̔̇͗̓͝i̵̡̫͍̩̪͎̥̦͈̳̝̋̆̃̎̋̆̆̕͝͠ş̸̢̲̰̞̠̞̞̟̞̺̉͗̅̒̇͘̚͜͝͠͠ ̴̰̥̀͛̓̓̅̈́í̸̧͖̹̻̹̮͋͆͜ş̸̡͇̳̦͔̪̔̅̄̕͜͜ ̶̳̬̪̞̫̏͋͊̓͠ṉ̸̨̡̗͍̻̻̰̻͚͕̻́̍̈́̇͋̂̉̑ŏ̴͙͓̬̖̬͈̪̱̲̆̊̆̊̇͜ͅţ̷͕̗̊̈̏ͅ ̶̧̨͉̬̥̼͚̭̈́̏̈́̌̄͒͘̚t̵̡͖̝̥̬̤̥͇̎̈̈́̒̅͘͠͝͠h̵͕̜̳̯̦̯͚̖̦͚̮̤̓̎a̶̢̦̩̰̤̪̾̉̈́̈̌͂̋͝t̴̙̞̗̱͆̈́́̈́̽̕ ̴̢̛̫̞̗͖͇̘͎͇̂̌͆̓͋ͅt̷̨̪̭̤̰̭͈͖̓̐̇̊̎̋̏͑̈́i̷̧̺̖̜̖̳̭͆̆̾̾̅̄ͅm̸̨̢̛̛̲̪̗̗͔̜͕̲͆͐̈̈́͋̈́͝ͅě̷̥͉̞̺̀̎̅͌͋̿̒̚͠.̷̱̪̗̰̙̩͇̻̺̅̿̀̈́͂̕͜ ̸̢̨̩͎̞̻̠̩͆̽̑͘W̷̡̙͔̦̠͈̰̿̑ę̴̩̠̜̣̦̠͙̇ ̸̳̘̻̯̠̼̼͔̰̻͛̎͑̿̈͆̚ͅc̵̡̫̞̱̣̞̻̥͍̰͊̄̏̅̕͝ͅh̵̨̜̮̼͇̪̖̺͙̊͆͛͗͆̎͑̉͒̍͘̚ͅͅͅo̸̢̲͉̲͈̬͚̱̎͝ô̸̮̩͈̪̭͓͍͙͗̑̒̔̀ş̸͎̘̣̈́̈́̓̓͛̓ẽ̶̢̈́̈̒̚̕ ̵̢̖̝̜̬͖̫̹́̑̽̎̅̿͝w̶͇̲͖͑͑h̸̟̲̰͈̝̥͈̦͚̋͑̈͌̒̓̇̚͠ͅa̵̗̘͌́͋͛̑̌̽͂̑̏͜͝t̵͇͒̈́̈́̃͆ ̴̟̭͚͉͌̀̂̾̈̕̕͝͠͝į̷̖̼̙̘̟̭̦̲̓͒̉͝s̸̖͒̈́ ̵̰͎̲̩͉͈͈͍͎̠̇̃̃̇̈́̐̕a̶̢̠̲͚̫͓̫̅̄̌͑͂̂͐̒̃n̸̠̣̪̥̮̮̊͜ḋ̸̼ ̶̡̯̠̲͉͉̹̙͑̍͊̊̉̽̈͝ẁ̷̞̩̣̥̫̹̯͕̪́̄̉̓̊̈́̈ḩ̶̢̢̜̩̫̮̹̬̟̱̦͆̉̈́͊̏̉̕a̶̮̓́̈͛̔͝t̴̞͆̊͘ ̷͔̜̗͖͚͉̑͐̈́̅́̈i̴̡̘͈̬̻͇̳͖̓͊̓̌̓̆͒̋͝s̸͖͌͂̂̕͝n̵͖̤̪̄͒̅̂̑͐̒͐͌̃̀̕'̸̨͖̣̼̭̼̝͍̮͉̹̔́̾͂͌͐͐͠t̸̢͕̟̰̰͉͕̅̊.̴̛̤̠̟͇͍̜̰͓͉̠̓̓̎͒̑͆͒͜͠ ̶̢̥͓̜̥̼̏̀̌Y̵̧̪̪̭͚̱̞̞̌̅̃̿ô̶̡̯̗͙̹̆́̾u̵̢̖̠̖̜͙͙̝͒̐͊̊̋̓̌̿́̑͘̕ ̶̡̨͙͈͎̣̠̤̈́̂̈́̃͊̆̀̃̚̚͠w̶̮̥̎͗̈́̎͒̚ï̶͓̗̗͙͉̊͑̋͑̅l̶̛̜̹͎̳̫̮̭̝̰͑̓͂͂̽̍̈͊̃̕͜͠ͅl̴̖̣̼͖̙͆̄̅̅͠ ̴̭̪̱̲͇͒̓͗͝ẗ̷̯͔̻́̚͝ͅä̶̧̱͎̥͓͍̤͔͚̮́̽̆̈̄̔̄̆̆̌͜k̵̡̡̪̲̱̻̤̭̦̇͗̓͠ę̴̤͇̜͎̦̩̬͑̅̿͗̋̎́̿̚͝ ̸̛͎̺͚̬͎̝͚̇̒̐h̵̬̝̺̍ỉ̷͓̱͕̪͊̆̐̇͋͌̚s̴̳͌̈́̿͋͆̈̔̔͠ͅ ̴̬͔̬̹̝̤̤̱͉͙̾̑̏̌͊͊͝ͅp̵̨̹̾ļ̴͇̰̜͖̗͎̗̖̑̈́̋̾̎͝ͅa̴͙̮͐̉̏̋́ͅc̸̢̫̝̯͇̖̬͐͒̽̀͆̈́̃͝ė̷̡̟̩̹̗̜̟͇͍͋̑͊̍̏͊͑͗͠.̶̰͉̄͂̎̾̋̅̈̔̚͝͠͝"̸̤̬̤̮͈̦͚̗̓̃̉̓̆̿̎͠͠ͅ**

  
  


They reached out in unison to point equally decayed fingers at the two of them. Something akin to the feeling of increased gravity resurfaced, and Kaneki grunted when his bones creaked in protest. Midoriya whimpered softly, a sound full of pain and fear that made the last shred of humanity that hadn’t died alongside his family roar with fury. A slight tug at his sleeve drew his attention back to the green-haired child. 

“It’s alright sir. I don’t know who you are but you seem like a nice person. I don’t know how you died, but everyone deserves a second chance.” Midoriya Izuku looked up at him with a wobbly smile, kindness and self-depreciation in his eyes. He felt his heart clench. 

“Kid, this is your life. You sure you want to throw it away for a stranger?”

“What life did I have? I was bullied by my childhood friend. Mom died. Dad didn’t even show up for her funeral. You’re the one person apart from her that I’ve met who treated me with kindness. Dying doesn’t seem so bad.” Midoriya Izuku continued smiling, though it frayed at the edges, tears welling up in his eyes. Kaneki felt his lips curve into a snarl, something he quickly concealed by tugging up the collar of his outfit. 

**"̷̡̖̫̝̘̻̻̟̉Y̵̫̭͚̪̪̫̲̝̾̽̏̕̕ȍ̵̧̘̹͔̟͔̗̭͆͒̊̇͗͘ū̷̯̲̮̹͚̝͍̯͈͖͊̓͒̏ ̵̡͓̲͉͕͉̪̐͒̽̐̒͌͒͐͘̕͝d̶̞̩̬̟͎̱͔̀̆͑̌͋̈́̍̔o̵͉̯̎̾͐̿͌͛͊̑ͅn̵̢̳͔͇͙̟͕̳̖͖̂̓̿̊̈́́̐̎͠'̷̡͕̍̆t̵̡̛͚̤̣͕̙̰̰̭ ̷̧̘͙̥̰̻̣̘̭̄͒́̊̌h̴̢̞͉̣̖̳̣͖̰̻̠̍̈́͐̑͌̓͝a̷̺̺̤̝̽̆͋͊v̵̳͕̟̉̾̾̓͛̂̌̇̔̕̚ę̵̜̼̠͕̩͕̞̟̖̊̓ ̶̗͙̞̥̲͗͋̄̆͆̂͜͜͝ą̷̠̞̻̮̝̘͆̿̓̈́̋̆͌ ̶̞̬̻͙̹̮͓͈̭̞͇̽̅̇͋͂̌͘̚͜c̶̭͖̲͖̹̱̈́̉̆́̐̈́͝ḩ̸̟͚̟̩̺̪͓̟̭͠õ̵̺̯̠͓͖̺̪͜i̵̘̰͇̗̣̥͌̓̂̏̌͆̑̊̉͂̅̚c̵̝̻̥͖̉͛̓̅͛͘͠ȅ̵̬̫̻̮̜̖̻͑̓̀̊̐̍͌̏̚͜.̵̢̢̨̛̪̝͕̙̩̝͈̚͝ ̶͎͇̠̦̩̟̇̓̽͆͌͐̊̋̚͝W̸̡̠̏͑̐̿̎̓̈́̇ḛ̵̲̱͔̞͚͒̏ ̴̛̛͓͕͕͒́̐̈́͛ẅ̷̛̳̤̰͍̘̙͈̥̘̪͇͎́̓͑̐̄̓̚i̷͕͎̓̋̊͛͂̈́l̴̡̢̢̺̬̝͚̺̪̇̋͛̋̍l̵̢̺̤̙̦͉̭̜̪̈́̒̌͆̚ ̶̢̗̪̓̏p̸̥̪͓̪̟̹̾͐̔̓̃̅̚͜͜r̸̜͖̪̳̥̼̪̩̖͒̆̊͆͘e̴̤̐̃̽̈̅̾̀̍͂p̸̥̑̏̔́͘ă̶̡̨̼̙̗͚̰͔̠̊̃͊͂r̶͈͙̪̬̝̤̈́̒͑͐̎̏̓̈́̕̕̚͝ę̸͈͎͉̫̮̏͂̃̄̕͜͝͠ ̶͈̻͍͔̃̉́͑͌͌̉͘ä̵̛͔̱͚̙̫̮͈̿͗̋͒̆̓̔͂̔ņ̵̢͎̱͖̤͖̪̙̙͚̉͠ḋ̸͍͕̳͇̭̻̄͘͜ͅ ̶̧̡̡̢̰̻̲̩̘͎͗y̶̩̯̮̹̹̮̜͈̮̞͎̋̔̌͗̀̾͝ő̶͉̿̐̄̐̓͠ū̷͉̜͇̔̋̏̆̍͘͝ͅ ̴̺̦̮̫̭̺̟̫̉͑̈̓̄͜w̶̡̙̠̟̭̝̺̟̦̠̋̆̅̅͒̈́̐̀̀͝i̶̥̹̠̺̬̐̓͝ͅͅl̵̨̼̹͈͋̂̚ͅl̴̛̲͉͙̮̬͒̒͊͊͌̋̌̀͘ ̷̨̫̃̈́̒̌͘ŵ̸̡̨̧̛̛̱̞̥̠̹͔̻͖͓̿͐̕͘͝â̷͓̝͙̰̔̈́̇̍̎̇̈̎͝͠k̴̘̲̥͋̇̄̃̊͗̐̚̕̚ė̷̟̪͇͇̗͗̒̍͒̂̿̆̈̓̇ ̴̬̣͕̼̈́̽̉̑̏̈͒͘u̷̗͐̄̓͊̉̓̐͑͘̚͝p̴̢̻̞̉̈́̇̈̂͗͐̎̽͝ ̶̹̭̚i̸̹̬̼̼̋́̓̒̚͘͠n̵̠̜̰̬̊̆̐̿͒̓ͅ ̴̭̱͔͕̮̙̟̣̉̎ḩ̸̼̗̙̳̭̦̦̥͕̳̭͐͂͊̚͝i̴̡̺̠̯͒͗̊͠s̸̡̢̡͉̯̲̭̤̙͋͛͛̈̂̐̉̔̓͘͝ ̶̢͕̎̾̾͛̒̾̂̑̑̾͠b̶̧͖̮͝ͅo̴̘͇̿͘ͅḑ̶̳͉̍̏̑̒̈͛̒̏̑y̴̛̫̺͕͇̣̬̖̜̰̬͗̍̄͜.̴̢̰͔̝̣̀͂̽́̆͠."̷̯̞̄̽͂**

He couldn’t suppress the guttural sound that escaped his throat at the dismissive,  _ callous _ way these supposed gods were willing to discard a child like he was a broken toy just because he wasn’t of any use to them. Once again, a memory surfaced in his mind, one of a pair of twins who he had fought against and then alongside. Of the doctor who had played with countless lives in order to achieve his goals. How he had laughed when one of his “daughters” begged him to save her counterpart. Something in him snapped. Distantly, he deduced that it was the last remaining fragment of self-preservation he had. Kaneki got to his feet, ignoring the way his muscles screamed. 

“Do you know what happens to gods kid?” Kaneki asked while gently nudging the green-haired boy behind him. Mutely, Midoriya shakes his head, eyes still trained on the things towering over them. Kaneki laughs, a sharp sound that cuts through the silence and static. 

“They get forgotten. Fade away. And sometimes, once in a while, when the stars are aligned and the wind blows true…” he draws a blade from beneath his coat and holds it loosely in his right hand, “someone kills them.” 

His words draw a sudden surge of pressure, and the white-haired man barely flinches even as his bones creak in protest.

**"̶͍͂̈́͗** **I̶̢̡̧̥̣̻̱͊̈́ͅs̶̡͈̜̦̙̹̍̓̇̄̅͠ ̴̹̋̑͐͗̿̅̇̔̾̎̋̋̚t̸̨̧̰̺̠̰̗͒͐̓h̴̲̤̣̓̊͑̈́̔͜å̶̭̈́t̶̙̓͆̎̾̓͂ ̴͚̺͈̮͇͙̞͖̓̂̒̒͂ä̸̜̬̗́̀͋̾͐̓̑͘̚͜͝ ̵̡̞̜̮̓̔̕͠t̶̛̛̮͓̐͗̌͂̀͒̃h̸̗̰̱̰̲͓̭̥̻͋͛̈ř̷̨̜̭̯̞͔̳̤͈͎̏͊ḛ̶͈̫̈̈́̓̄̏̀ͅą̶͇̀̍̅̎̔̈́̌͝t̷̨̨̪̱̭͎̏̐̏̈́͌̓̈́ͅ,̶̮̠̦̏̾͐̿̐̔̀̿̏̄͑̒͘͝ ̸͚͙͕͊̈́̅̈́̌͂̉́͑̚p̷͎̙̹̯̃̈́̑̿̒́̋͐̑̀͝ą̸̨̨̞͇̫̩̘͎̼͔̜͕̽̒́͛̀̊́̾̆͐̋̈̚ẇ̵̢̘͔̼̣̳̦͕͕̬̾̓̇̉͝͠n̶͈̮̙̯͎̖͉͙̠̥͎̱̘̿̐̇͊̈́͘͜ͅ?̶̣̱̝͎͔͍̒̾͐̇̿̈̉̑̀͘͠͝"̶̢̬̺̹̰͙̠̙̦͚̜̙̐͒͝** they ask in unison, amusement warring with displeasure at the way he was talking. Kaneki shakes his lowered head dismissively. Red mist blossoms and pools to form his kagune as the man who was once king tilts his head up to reveal a single kakugan burning with rage. 

“It’s not a threat,” he states while stepping towards the entities, ignoring the way static claws at his mind and soul. He brandishes his weapon in preparation. 

**“It’s a promise.”**

His blade glows red as a single thin tendril plugged itself into the hilt. Darting forward as the pressure continued to increase, he bellowed a battle cry, his kagune lashing out at the things that had surfaced from shadows that weren’t previously there. He noted idly that they didn’t die easily as he leaped into the air. With a thought, his additional appendages hardened, crystallizing and turning into bludgeons. They crushed everything they hit, and Kaneki enjoyed the adrenaline that was beginning to course through his veins as he slipped on his mask with practiced motions. Raising his blade even as he fell out of the sky, the white-haired man’s kakugan flared once more as he swung. 

A semi-solid wave of RC cells spilled from his blade, looking just like a cloud of fog. Grinning beneath his mask when the cloud enveloped his new opponents, he cracked a knuckle on his free hand before clenching it into a fist. What had probably the same consistency as fine water droplets had turned into a hail of sharpened spikes. Not giving the “gods” any time to react to the thousands of holes in them, he landed(breaking a leg that healed even as he moved once more), darting forward and toppling the giants with more kagune empowered swings as he fended off the monsters and demons attempting to get to Midoriya. Feeling more powerful than ever, he ensured that they stayed fallen, switching the thin spikes out for large pillars that sprouted from the ground, with serrated edges that caused black blood to spray across his face. Pulling down his mask, he licked at it experimentally before gagging. If ghoul flesh tasted like rotten fish, this was akin to eating something that had decomposed but was still infested with maggots. Retching slightly, he swept a hand almost lazily at the right figure, feeling a vindicative sort of pleasure in the way it was ripped into half, a solid wave of his kagune tearing the giant figure apart. Idly, he noted that the creatures had stopped their attacks almost immediately, disappearing along with the shadows. The kid watched him with an awestruck expression, bringing him back to reality. He would end this quickly. 

His kagune wrapped around the one that had stopped twitching, consuming it. With each second, he felt his RC count jump by leaps and bounds. Worryingly, the veins in his wrists were beginning to turn black. Casually climbing onto the body of the thing still alive, he kicked off the hood and ignored the howling and the static. Kaneki nearly scoffed at the diseased, ruined face that met hsi eyes. It appeared to be ready to croak out something. Perhaps a warning. Perhaps a plea for mercy. He raised his blade above his head, chanelling a fraction of the power he had gotten from the consumption of the other false god and watching impassively as the thing attempted to scramble away from him. The thin blade had widened to the thickness of a door, with the length of a hallway. Despite that, Kaneki wielded it with ease. He stepped even closer to spit on the face of the being that had been so content to play with his life and that of the child behind him. 

**“I’ll see you in hell.”**

* * *

Midoriya Izuku watched as the kind man who had regarded him with the warmth that only a fellow survivor could give decapitated the entity that had seemed so powerful just seconds ago. He scrubbed at his eyes furiously, images coming forth, memories of the life Kaneki-san had left behind and he averted his gaze so that he could eat his prey in peace. Here was a person who had gone through worse times than him and come out of it stronger. Here was a man who had been denied his happy ending. The green-haired teenager’s hands curled into fists. It just wasn’t fair. Why was the world so cruel to those that were so full of hope?

He walked forward as Kaneki-san left behind the discarded remains of what once had been gods, anticipating the man to look at him with disdain after seeing how much of a Quirkless, Worthless Deku he was. Just like how Kacchan had turned on him. 

What he wasn’t expecting was a soft hand to land in his hair, the white-haired man bending down to wrap his other arm around him. He stiffened, words dying in his throat before he could say them. Slowly, impossible to restrain, tears began to leak from his eyes as he broke down quietly in the embrace of a man who had defied the gods. 

Was this what it was like to be accepted?

* * *

The two individuals beyond death sat on the ground, staring out into an endless white void. Seconds passed. Maybe hours. Maybe years. Time held no meaning in the realm they had been tossed into. They conversed quietly, exchanging stories that they already knew. Nothing disturbed them. 

After an eternity and an instant at the same time, they got to their feet. Raising their hands in unison, the world screamed as it splintered and fell apart around them. Nevertheless, they watched on impassively, in the eye of the storm. Soon enough, the older of the pair turned to his counterpart. 

“I guess this is goodbye kid.” Midoriya smiled, a genuine one this time, reaching out to wrap his arms around the older man. 

“Only for now Kaneki-san. I’ll tell you when I’ve made my choice.” Kaneki chuckled, returning the embrace as the final bits of the realm disintegrated before their eyes. 

“This world is wrong,” Kaneki states, “we will fix it. Or die trying.” Midoriya declares.

* * *

He wakes up in a pool of blood, in a body far too small for him. Extending his hands, he gave them a once-over, drinking in every last starburst scar. Silently, he tugged his hood over his head and turned to walk away. 

As he walked, accompanied only by the sounds of the night, Kaneki Ken spoke softly to himself. 

“Now where do we begin?” 

He tilts his head to one side, almost as if he was listening to something no one else could hear. 

And the One-Eyed King laughs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...how’d I do?
> 
> Glitch Text translations:
> 
> 1\. Hello pieces.
> 
> 2\. What else would we call you? We are the ones who came before. We are your fate, your destiny. We are in control. 
> 
> 3\. Midoriya Izuku. We had many plans for him. But he istoo weak. We looked for someone stronger. We found you. You will take his place.
> 
> 4\. In another time he would have survived. His story would have satisfied us. This is not that time. We choose what is and what isn’t. You will take his place. 
> 
> 5\. You don’t have a choice. We will prepare you and you will wake up in his body. 
> 
> 6\. Is that a threat, pawn?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re a murderer,” he snarls as he whips his capture tape around for another strike, “and that’s enough of a reason for me to stop you.” the masked teenager laughs almost mockingly as he leaps over the ribbons, their single visible eye glowing dimly. 
> 
> “Silly Eraserhead. You think that you know everything just from a single glance,” his tone abruptly sours as he kicks off a wall and leaps up to perch on the railing of a fire escape, “just like the rest of this society.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not sure why I’m writing this instead of focusing on my other stories, but hey, at least I’m not struggling with writer’s block. Still need to study my ass off, but for now this’ll be a little breather so I won’t go insane. Funny story actually, as I’m writing this, my mother is being a complete and utter asshole. It ain’t fun to wake up first thing in the morning and have one of your parents barge into your room, sweep your things off the shelves and throw away whatever she considers useless. Oh, don’t forget the passive-aggressive comments about how me and my brother are hoarders because we actually pay attention to what we use and use it carefully. Whatever I suppose. What do I know? Well, enough of the downer, let’s move on. To those reading this as a rewrite, don’t worry. Kaneki is the protagonist in this story. I’m not going to change that. 

When Aizawa Shouta went on his umpteenth patrol, half awake and still running through his lesson plan for the next day, he was expecting a few things. The normal legions of criminals that decided to crawl out of the woodwork at night, preying on the alone and unsuspecting. The occasional villain, striking under the cover of darkness because they were (or thought themselves) smarter than the riff raff that provided daytime heroes with the punching bags they needed for their popularity. The not-so-occasional vigilante, a mixture of people from all walks of life. Some, Aizawa would do his best to capture, mostly those that thought themselves above the law. Some, he would work with, those that had been tossed aside by the world but still retained the kind of potential he wished that all his students would have. He could at least respect their desire to help people, even with the law against them. And perhaps, once in a blue moon, he would meet an irregularity. A suicidal individual he needed to talk down from a ledge(and sometimes, Aizawa would be just too late, another mark on his soul, a reminder that he would never be good enough). A true villain, one that wanted to break the world. The anomalies were far and few in between. Finding one was like striking the lottery on his first try. 

Yet none he had met was as odd as the boy he had just stumbled upon. Almost literally. He had been running across rooftops while wishing that he had brought additional eye drops when he had accidentally missed a step. Well, to be more specific, he had tripped over something that hadn’t been there about two seconds ago. Stumbling briefly, he blinked twice at the decently sized rock that had bounced off his leg and hindered his movements long enough to throw off his entire flow, before tracing it back to its origin. A hooded figure, shadows seemingly curling around their body, standing next to a wall and muttering to themself. Aizawa briefly contemplated activating his Quirk in order to check if the “hidden amongst the shadows” thing was the mysterious person’s ability, but decided against it. After all, it was more likely for them to bolt as soon as their disguise fell rather than stick around and figure out what was going on. He crept closer, then closer. Soon enough, the distance between them was short enough for the older man to hear a voice pitched high enough to be that of a child having a quiet conversation. From the way the hoodie was shifting around, tilting and nodding with certain pauses in the noise, the hooded individual was either talking to someone else...or themself. He was guessing the latter, all things considered. One being there was no proper conversation partner, the muttering just slow enough for him to translate portions of it. It sounded as if this person was thinking aloud even as they drew and wrote on the wall with a single finger in brisk motions. He snorted softly to himself. A delusional graffiti artist. Deciding that he had heard enough, Aizawa stepped forward just as the hooded figure spoke in a much louder voice. 

“No need to sneak up on me or anything. It was obvious from the moment you tripped that there was someone who had managed to find me.” Aizawa blinked slowly, but said nothing, choosing to continue creeping forward. More often than not, someone who stated that they knew you were there were the type of people that had somehow managed to sense that there was  _ someone _ there, but didn’t exactly know where you were. Unfortunately, it appeared that this was not one of those times. The hooded individual turned immediately towards the underground hero and revealed an eerie mask and a single uncovered eye. 

In the back of his mind, he wondered who had an imagination capable of creating such a monstrosity. To someone in the goth community, it might have seemed appealing. To Aizawa, the black leather mask with awfully detailed teeth was just the right thing for a serial killer to wear. Dully, he noted the Frakenstein-like bolts screwed into each side of the mask’s jaw while carefully loosening his capture weapon. The exposed eye gave no reaction to his silence other than a slight narrowing, something that looked more like eye-narrowed-in-amusement rather than eye-narrowed-in-suspicion. Somehow, that single action irked the Pro-Hero despite the tense silence filling the air. The feeling of irritation intensified when Hoodie turned back to add a few lines to whatever he was drawing. Sighing to himself and wondering whether his latest capture believed that heroes wouldn’t stoop as low as to chase a graffiti artist with more than a few screws loose(some wouldn’t. But that wasn’t the point). A brief hint of disappointment flared as he let his capture weapon fly. For someone who had detected him almost immediately despite being preoccupied with something else, Hoodie was clearly far too arrogant to properly use that potential. And with their height and voice, it was pretty likely that the kid would have had the chance to become one of his students in the years to come. With practiced motions, he manipulated the ribbons of steel-cloth. 

And when the first loop encircled the kid’s wrist, everything went wrong. 

Almost immediately, Hoodie yanked his bound wrist forward with enough strength to shock Aizawa into starting an impromptu tug-of-war. Immediately activating his Quirk(while chatising himself for not doing it sooner), a second jolt of shock ran through the Pro-Hero when the unnatural strength continued to persist. His opponent turned around, revealing an eye that looked like it had been dipped into black ink, red veins marring the exposed skin. With a flick, the kid amped up the amount of force he was using, sending Aizawa skidding several steps forward. All instincts on high alert(and wondering what kind of mutation caused demonic pink-eye), he recovered quickly enough to avoid the fist thrown towards his face when Hoodie kicked off the wall he had been drawing on and launched his own body like a makeshift bullet. Grabbing the hood of the other’s clothing as he passed by, he yanked on the improvised leverage. For a fraction of a section, the cloth held firm, before something severed it. Catching himself before his momentum could send him tumbling, the older man quickly discarded the wet and ruined hood in favour of whipping his capture weapon around for a second attack while cutting the section still held tightly in his enemy’s grasp before they could use it once more. 

Hoodie cancelled the resultant momentum by slamming into a wall, looking completely unfazed by the impact even if the building shuddered. Casually bringing up their fists in a decent fighting stance, they waited for the Pro-Hero to make his move. Aizawa hesitated. His two main weapons had already been proven ineffective. The criminal that looked more like a child than anything else apparently held enough natural strength to be able to overpower a fully grown adult, and he had just been forced to cut a portion of his capture weapon. Letting the bandage-like scarf fall back around his neck, he decided to indulge in his curiosity for once. Hoodie didn’t seem to be hostile, only fighting when the Pro-Hero had attacked. 

“What are you?” he asked, eyes itching from his Quirk usage just seconds ago. His question elicited a chuckle as the teenager loosened up, fists gradually uncurling. His opponent concealed their hands in their pockets before sighing slightly. 

“You know, Eraserhead, that was my only article of clothing,” he felt a dull thrum of shock at how easily the graffiti artist had managed to guess his identity, but hid it in favour of listening carefully to them as they continued speaking, “and I was going to replace it once I was done but that’s really beside the point.” Aizawa frowned, an expression that was concealed by the darkness of their surroundings. The one streetlight in the area was flickering on and off, briefly illuminating the area for a few seconds. As he paid more attention to the ground, however, he began to notice something...disturbing. Looking down at his hands, he blanched when one of them was stained red. Bringing it up to his nose, the metallic stench of blood assaulted his senses and the Pro-Hero’s mind immediately went back to the almost slimy texture of the hoodie he had torn off his previous opponent. Gentle laughter echoed in the silence, and he looked back up to see a single demonic eye staring straight into his soul, followed by the sound of bone breaking. He shivered, just before the streetlight flickered to life. Almost on cue, a host of other previously dark sources of light flared, bathing everything in the vicinity with light rivalling that of the midday sun. He squinted against the glare in order to see what was going on, only to immediately regret his choice. 

The teenager was stained by blood. That was actually an understatement. It looked like Hoodie(actually, considering he had destroyed it, the teenager’s most defining feature was their mask) had taken a bath in the liquid. Furthermore, the ground near the wall(and the wall itself) were  _ painted _ with the substance. Aizawa fought the urge to throw up right there and then. Somehow, he had missed the smell of fresh blood(most likely because of the sharp scent of paint in the air), enough blood to determine that the masked teenager had either killed or severely maimed multiple people. No longer pulling his punches, he whips around his capture weapon for yet another attack, anger beginning to cloud his mind even as his opponent prances around like a demented acrobat, using the walls and even his capture weapon in order to avoid strikes. Occasionally, he would return to the wall in order to swipe at it some more, and the nonchalant way the teenage murderer fights like his hands weren’t stained with blood. Once more, Aizawa has received an example of why it was better to harden his heart with logic rather than rely on emotion. After a few minutes passing in a blur of activity, he was no closer to capturing his target, and the only thing he had to show for it was the fact that his capture weapon had shortened at an alarming rate. He growls even as his eyes continue to itch, hoping that the inhuman strength and speed his opponent was demonstrating would falter for even a second while his Quirk was active, but to no avail. As the teenager stepped into striking distance, he lashed out once more. And for the first time, his fist collided with its intended target. Aizawa smiled briefly(although it was more of a snarl) before the impact of the blow travelled back up his arm, resulting in a dull throb of pain. He gritted his teeth and before the masked teenager could slither out of his grasp, his fingers managed to catch the edge of the ominous mask. The strap stretched briefly before snapping, and it fell away to reveal a glimpse of an effiminate face and a hint of a smile. The sight only managed to irritate him further as his opponent finally managed to escape his grasp, mask dangling slightly. 

“Ne, Eraserhead, you’re working awfully hard to capture me. In the time that you’ve been fighting me, you could probably have finished up your patrol route, or at least had the chance to take down a couple other hoodlums. That isn’t very logical of you, is it Eraserhead-san?” it appeared as if this teenager was specifically engineered to be as infuriating as possible. Acting like a child. Taunting him with knowledge that he shouldn’t know. It was truly frightening, in any case. If he had the time to grow and cultivate the potential Aizawa could sense, the teenager could make an amazing hero. Or perhaps a terrifying villain. 

“You’re a murderer,” he snarls as he whips his capture tape around for another strike, “and that’s enough of a reason for me to stop you.” the masked teenager laughs almost mockingly as he leaps over the ribbons, their single visible eye glowing dimly. 

“Silly Eraserhead. You think that you know everything just from a single glance,” his tone abruptly sours as he kicks off a wall and leaps up to perch on the railing of a fire escape, “just like the rest of this society.” they slip their mask back into place, covering up any facial features that could be seen. A splash of something warm landed on his face, and when Aizawa wiped it off, he was disgusted by the red sheen to it. Still, when he looked back up, the faint silhouette of his target was already vanishing over the rooftops, leaving a single piece of paper fluttering through the air. Struggling briefly with the desire to chase the murderer before they could get any further, the Pro-Hero sighed, defeated. 

Snatching the paper out of the air, an unpleasant feeling churned in his gut as the spiraling text, written in blood, seemed to taunt him. 

_ Don’t worry about the blood, Eraserhead-san. It’s actually mine. Don’t believe me? That’s alright. I wouldn’t expect you to. You may not understand this just yet, but you’ve caused a lot of trouble for the future. I was trying to remember something. Now I can’t. We’ll see each other again, Mr Pro-Hero. Just not in the way you think we will.  _

_ Until next time,  _

_ Eyepatch.  _

He mouthed the words to himself, running them over in his mind, wondering what they truly meant. How could so much blood come from a single person, one with barely a scratch on them? What were they trying to remember? Almost unconsciously, he walked up to the wall, once again shadowed by the darkness. His lips curled into a frown as he detached the small flashlight from his waist and used it to illuminate what he had assumed was a piece of graffiti. Shock rippled through his veins as he gaped at the sheer size and complexity of the web. A web of names, places, events that didn’t make sense.  _ USJ. Eri. A forest burning. Family troubles. _

“Eyepatch...what are you?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How was this little chapter? I’m attempting to figure out which way I should go with this story, so tell me what you think. This will probably be the last blurb in a while, considering final exams are around the corner. I just had to write this down when I had the time. Be seeing ya. Good luck with your lives. Hopefully they’re better than mine.


	3. Burn the house down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re not the first person to underestimate me, Chisaki Kai.” he spat the name like it was a curse, choosing to keep his sword sheathed as his kagune twitched beneath his skin, begging for blood. Abruptly, he dropped the facade that kept people he walked by on the streets from running away in terror. Bloodlust oozed out of him, curling around the half-ghoul like miasma. The man with the mask of a plague doctor jerked back suddenly, removing both gloves rather hurriedly. 
> 
> “After all, there’s a reason there are only three people still alive in this compound,” he winked, feeling his kakugan activate alongside his kagune, causing his opponent to hiss like he had been exposed to something particularly vile, “and I’ll make sure that there are only two when I’m done with you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m writing this while I still have the time, partly because I’m bored and partly because I want to do a little bit of world building before we enter canon. This’ll probably be the last chapter before the true BNHA canon, but don’t be surprised if chapter 4 is just another episode in the adventures of Kaneki Ken. I’m glad to see that you all are enjoying the story. I’m enjoying writing it too. People seem to agree with my decision to reboot this story. To be honest I feel like I should have done it sooner. Anyway, onwards. 

Kaneki huffed in irritation, scrubbing the last of the blood from his body even as he tried to figure out what to do next. In hindsight, it had been a bad idea to do his mind-mapping on the wall of a dark alleyway, and it had been a  _ terrible  _ idea to do it in his own blood. He should have expected that with his incredibly bad luck, someone would have stumbled onto the scene that looked eerily like the aftermath of a really violent murder, but he had been expecting some lowlife attempting to prey on someone they considered “easy” rather than one of the few people he couldn’t kill. Of course, it could have been worse. The Number One Hero could have somehow stumbled onto him, and there was something in Kaneki that bayed for the blood of the one who, in countless other universes, would have been the one to finish Midoriya Izuku off, a final cruel blow from worlds run by sick and twisted beings that acted so very similar to every genocidal maniac in history, every corrupt politician who looked away as millions died, counting their cash. He broke a knuckle in response to his thoughts, the brief flare of pain helping him to focus even as he decided to ditch the tattered hoodie he had nicked from a dumpster. Shedding it revealed an almost skin-tight bodysuit with a large opening in the back, another relic from his past that he had lost after the transition from Kaneki Ken to Haise Sasaki. It was unclear what laws dimensional travel followed, and with the so-called divine flesh that he had consumed, there was more than just his kagune stirring beneath his skin. If not, he wouldn’t have been able to travel back to the world that the kid had been ripped from. His lips quirked into a small, sad smile when he thought about the green-haired child, the bright-eyed idealist that had been beaten down time and time again. How he had given up his chance at life because he thought the monster clad in human flesh deserved to rewrite the way his story ended. Kaneki sighed as he stood up, glancing around briefly to figure out whether anyone was in the vicinity before picking up the set of clothes he had...aquired from the unfortunate criminal (he avoided all memories of the man’s name as the deceased individual’s crimes flitted along the back of his mind). While they were baggy and ill-fitting, it was better than walking around like he enjoyed BDSM and with a little bit of cutting and folding, they were acceptable. Thankful that his pants were relatively unscathed, he shrugged on the shirt followed by a high-collar jacket (and it was, indeed, a major coincidence that he had crossed paths with a rich criminal, of all people) that concealed the jagged scars inching up his neck, but did nothing to cover the rest of the burn scars that had carried over from his death. Thankfully, unlike a certain dual-haired teenager on his list of things to do, the warped scar tissue was easy to hide, aside from the jagged line tracing his jawline and branding him with a lopsided smile. 

It wasn’t surprising that he had come into this world with injuries from the previous. After all, his nerves were still tingling (read:screaming) with the pain of being immolated and unlike how most of his nerve endings had slowly begun degenerating with each time he had been injured in his first life, this body was particularly sensitive to any forms of stimuli. Probably because Izuku had committed suicide and his nervous system was practically fresh. Even a gentle breeze felt like a blade was gliding along his skin. Cleaning himself had been agony. Still, pain was an old friend, and this kind of pain was easily ignored. Plus, the more he had to injure himself, the easier it would get. A depressing thought process, really, but one that he was used to. Hissing slightly as a particularly strong gust of wind traced his exposed neck, Kaneki picked a rooftop and slowly created a small tendril of his kagune to use. 

An eternity spent in a second could be used for plenty of things. Pair that with a boy who had the ability to analyse and break down every Quirk he saw within seconds at his side, the half-ghoul had found many more...interesting ways to use his usual weapons. Of course, there was also the side effect of consuming divine flesh. Laughing softly as he curled the tendril around his arm, mimicking how Tsukiyama’s kagune formed, he extended it and found purchase on the ledge of the roof even as he began to run up the side of the building. Combine the natural strength a ghoul possessed with the alarmingly small body of one Midoriya Izuku and a kagune to back it up made moving around far too easy. It was a trick he had to use against Eraserhead, a gamble that he took in order to escape, more than slightly shaken by the close call that he had. Mournfully, his mind briefly went back to his mask, tucked away in a pocket because the older man had been able to rip one of the straps before Kaneki figured out what he was doing. Thankfully, all his previous opponent got to see was probably a sliver of his cheek and mouth, which wasn’t anything incriminating (thankfully). Still, he needed a new mask or the ability to fix up his current mask in case he wanted to continue righting whatever wrongs he could before the timeline caught up with him. It had been just a few weeks after he had first picked himself off the puddle of blood that had marked the end of the kid’s life and started the trainwreck of events that had led to the two of them meeting and subsequently what had happened afterwards. At first, he had been focused on building his power base. The thing with being an individual from another dimension and having somehow managed to bring down the things that had made his blood boil with their callous words was that he had  _ plenty _ of knowledge about the way the world worked. 

He had been far too complacent. As he was focusing on attempting to bring out the power he could feel crawling beneath his skin, slowly removing the criminals that plagued this society one by one (and unlike the so-called Public Safety Commission, his targets came from all walks of life) while getting the hang of the smaller body that he was stuck in (he had lost count of the number of times an attack missed just because he overestimated his reach, or the sound of phantom laughter from a kid that no longer existed when he tripped over his own feet). It was only after the end of the second week that he realized something was wrong. The pristine memory reel that he had been running over in his head had started to skip in parts. Alarmed, he had spent a few days desperately writing down everything that he could still remember even as it slipped away from him. Unfortunately, in amassing cash that he could use and finding a place that he could stay (and for those he would need to save in the future), he had neglected to buy any form of writing materials. It was his carelessness that had led to the confrontation with Aizawa Shouta, and people that he might not even remember now might suffer because of him. Thankfully, he had managed to double back and get several mental snapshots of the timeline he had haphazardly thrown onto a wall, ignoring the fact that it was his life essence staining that all. He could always regenerate. He did not fear death. And if he had failed anyone, Kaneki couldn’t find it in himself to forgive his own stupidity. So, as anemic as he was currently, he needed to track down his targets before even the mental snapshots in his head were eaten by the boundaries between space and time. 

Releasing a second tendril to help with mobility, he continued to swing through the air using his kagune, a headache slowly forming as he scrambled to reign in his self-loathing and deal with his continuously fragmenting memories at the same time, on a course to the first thing on his list. The Eight Precepts of Death. The last remnants of the Yakuza biding their time and using a child too afraid and far too self-sacrificial to even attempt to run away. He frowned to himself when the Quirks of the Yakuza members didn’t come to his mind. Rifling around in his head for any scraps of information, all he could find was the image of beak masks. Grimacing now, he landed softly in front of one of the many compounds of the bastards who decided it was a good idea to use a child in order to get what they need. The gears in his mind whirred and shifted into place with each step he took towards the towering structure. Ever so slightly, his kagune unfurled from his back and began unravelling, splitting into small threads. Normally, such an extensive use of the RC cells in his body would have led him to the point of collapsing out of exhaustion, especially considering the sheer amount of blood he had to replace (and still was, judging by the ache in his bones). Still, the stolen power he possessed was more than enough for such a task, even if the world around him began to fracture like glass from the sheer amount of energy he was burning that he wasn’t supposed to have. He wasn’t here for a fight that would mark itself in history, nor was he of the mindset that this world was fair. Even if no one would ever know who he was, or why he had decided to massacre the last organized bits of the Yakuza, even if they decided to brand him a villain...

**So be it.**

First, he systematically sought out all the possible exits and funneled RC cells into the ground, crafting traps in the event that someone managed to escape his grasp. Next, he sought out the sleeping quarters of the ones who might give him trouble, and deciding that risking the chance of raising the alarm was one that he wasn’t willing to take, he merely did the same thing that he had done to the exits and set traps at their doors. Kaneki broke a knuckle, then another, reattaching his slightly damaged mask to his face and tying a knot for the broken strap. It was a temporary fix, and he would rather just use the crystal mask that his kakuja form gifted him, but he was here to send a message. Plus, there was a girl somewhere in this compound, any unnecessary damage could lead to her getting injured, or even dying. He couldn’t afford for that to happen. Stretching slightly, he considered the way to go about this. The main leader would probably be more focused on getting his experiment(and another wave of seething hatred crawled through his veins at the thought), and while he still couldn’t remember the Quirk of the main villain, Kaneki had a sneaking suspicion that it was something powerful enough to destroy a couple of traps and walls. He needed to be quick. Taking several deep breaths, he cut off contact with the portions of kagune he had already implanted wherever he thought necessary. They would be able to do their job without any input from him, and he would need all the concentration he could get in order to ensure that his half-baked plan went off without a hitch. Ever so slowly, he brought a hand to his face, brushing his damp hair out of his eye. Hardening his heart, his lips twisted into a cruel smile beneath the mask. 

**He would show no mercy.**

* * *

**_Excerpts of the camera footage recovered from the scene of the crime show that it was clearly premeditated. It is unclear what Quirk could possibly cause such widespread destruction, and any footage involving the perpetrator appears to be distorted, or even missing entirely. However, all evidence points to an individual rather than a group._ **

**[Camera 4B]**

**_The camera rotates slowly from left to right, watching an empty hall. At precisely 0116h according to the timestamp, several of the doors shudder, some even breaking. One particular door, about three-quarters down the hallway, is knocked off its hinges by a large man (Identified as B-Ranked Villain Kendo Rappa, Deceased). The man appears to be fighting what looks like a tentacle as it wraps around his neck, attempting to rip it apart with his hands. Unnoticed by the villain but recorded by the camera, the red tendril coils up like a spring, tensing slightly before the tip of it punctures the underside of the man’s jaw. The tip reappears briefly, bursting through the back of the man’s skull before withdrawing. He collapses and after twitching slightly, lies still. No one responds to the commotion he must have caused._ **

**[Camera 7A]**

**_The camera is stationary, positioned in the corner of the room. It displays several filing cabinets and a table at which a man (Identified as Kurono Hari, Second-in-Command of the Eight Precepts of Death, Deceased) is writing in a file. He appears to notice something, looking up from his work briefly to glance at his surroundings, before shaking his head and returning to his task. Not visible to the man, however, is another red tendril sprouting from the floor in front of his table. It quivers, seemingly searching for a target before whipping around abruptly, slicing through the table and the man as well. He bleeds out within seconds after the top half of his body abruptly slid off the bottom._ **

**[Cameras 6E, 2A and 9C]**

**_(These three cameras cover the escape routes the Eight Precepts of Death could take in the event of a raid. It is uncertain how the perpetrator managed to discover the location of all of them.)_ **

**_They show similar scenarios. Groups of mask wearing individuals run for the exits, some holding cases (Identified to be Quirk-suppressing drugs) and others holding guns. Just before they can reach the exit, spikes erupt from the ground, turning their exit route into a trap. Many are caught within the initial wave, and any lucky enough to remain alive do not live much longer as more spikes shoot out from the ground to puncture the survivors. The jagged protrusions sink back into the ground several minutes later._ **

**[Camera 10D]**

**_A masked figure looks up at the camera (Identified by Pro-Hero Eraserhead as “Eyepatch”). He stares into it unblinkingly for seven minutes before they are impaled by a spike extending from the wall in front of them. Without flinching, they bring a hand down to break the protrusion before vanishing from the camera’s view. A few moments later, they come back into the frame, holding up a man by his neck (Identified as Irinaka Joi, the General Manager of the Eight Precepts of Death, Deceased). They appear to have a conversation, one that ends with Eyepatch throwing the much bigger man to the ground and stomping on his head with enough force to turn it into a pulp. Brushing the bits of brain matter from his leg, Eyepatch salutes the camera before moving out of frame._ **

**[Camera 12]**

**_Eyepatch comes face to face with a man standing in an empty room (Identified as Chisaki Kai, the leader of the Eight Precepts of Death, Deceased). They appear to exchange a conversation, in which Chisaki looks confident. He drops that confidence in favour of removing both his gloves as red tentacles, thicker versions of the tendrils that killed the others unfurl from Eyepatch’s back. They have a brief scuffle in which Eyepatch manages to injure Chisaki several times before the man touches them, causing everything above the vigilante’s waist to be reduced to blood. The mask falls to the floor as the man turns away. Subtly, the blood appears to be reforming. The camera abruptly stops recording here. When it resumes, Chisaki Kai is lying face-up on the floor, his arms gone. Eyepatch is nowhere to be seen, and neither is their mask._ **

* * *

Kaneki sighs slightly at the almost familiar sensation of his insides rearranging themselves after geting impaled through the midsection,  _ again _ . He was starting to wonder whether or not it would be a good idea to invest in armour considering how many of his opponents had stabbed him in the stomach. It would save him from feeling the sensation of stomach acid corroding his other internal organs even as they fixed themselves. Mourning the fact that he was going to have to get another shirt soon, he stepped into a big, open room that gave off the same vibes as a boss chamber in a video game. In the middle of the room stood his target, apparently still oblivious to the fact that his forces had been eradicated over the course of an hour. Eri was still safe and asleep, and she would stay that way until Kaneki was done. The man looks up at the sound of footsteps, eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly when the half-ghoul drops the severed head he was holding as an intimidation factor. He paid no attention to the older man, eyes drifting to locate the single camera in the entire room and making sure to send a piece of his kagune through the floor and into the wall in case he needed to pull out the big guns. While he was at it, he turned the room into a giant landmine, but restrained himself from moving. If there was a chance he could get out of this without fighting, it would make his job much easier. After all, assassination was simple compared to a head on fight with a man whose Quirk he still did not know. Kaneki continued to walk forward at a leisurely pace, staying silent as Overhaul began to speak. Briefly, the image of Doctor Kanou replaced the face of the man masquerading as a plague doctor, and Kaneki had to suppress the sudden urge to end it immediately. 

“You, a single child, think that you can stop me from cleansing this world of all its filth?” the clearly insane germaphobe questioned in a bored tone, already taking off one of his gloves. Kaneki’s eyes lingered on the unusual action, before a fragment of a memory finally surfaced after what had felt like hours of urging his mind to piece together what little he could still remember. The phantom sensation of immense power coursing through veins that were not his, bones turning to fine dust and muscles ripping like paper even as they were rewound back to their original state. Beneath his mask, the former King snarls, any lingering trace of hesitation gone from his being. 

“You’re not the first person to underestimate me, Chisaki Kai.” he spat the name like it was a curse, choosing to keep his sword sheathed as his kagune twitched beneath his skin, begging for blood. Abruptly, he dropped the facade that kept people he walked by on the streets from running away in terror. Bloodlust oozed out of him, curling around the half-ghoul like miasma. The man with the mask of a plague doctor jerked back suddenly, removing both gloves rather hurriedly. 

“After all, there’s a reason there are only three people still alive in this compound,” he winked, feeling his kakugan activate alongside his kagune, causing his opponent to hiss like he had been exposed to something particularly vile, “and I’ll make sure that there are only two when I’m done with you.” 

Even as the man ran towards him, hands outstretched, Kaneki was already using his kagune to attack. As expected, the reflexes of the Yakuza boss was good enough for him to be able to disassemble the extra appendages sent his way, but more precise manipulation of the four weapons was enough for him to punch several holes in the man’s body. Of course, he just reassembled his body in order to remove the injuries. Groaning mentally at how troublesome this fight was going to be, he was about to turn the room into a giant spike trap when a stray idea crossed his mind. Every remaining survival instinct in his body screamed for him to not do what his brain had conjured up, but mulling it over for several seconds was enough for the half-ghoul to decide the bad idea was something he had to try. Pretending to falter and leave himself open, Kaneki watched as Overhaul seized the opportunity, the desperate man that he was. It took but a mere glancing touch for the man’s Quirk to activate, and the last thought the young half-ghoul had as he nearly screamed at the sensation of each cell in his body crumbling simultaneously was that he was probably going to regret his decision. Then, darkness. 

He blinked his non-existent eyes, staring at the familiar white surroundings. A gentle chuckle made him turn his head to the right, despite not having a head (or even a physical body). Izuku met his gaze with a cheerful smile, one that made his face light up, a smile similar to the ones he would give before his diagnosis as Quirkless. The boy was still fourteen, but his eyes held the same intensity of a war veteran. Reaching out, the green-haired kid hugged him briefly before pulling away. The kid shook his head. 

“While it is good to see you, it’s far too early Kaneki-san. Your war has barely begun.” the white-haired man sighed, but nodded, wishing that there was some way for Midoriya Izuku to be brought back to the world of the living.  _ Stubborn kid _ , he thought fondly, reaching out before realizing that he didn’t have a physical form. 

“I’ll be back to visit you. It must get lonely here.” 

“Yeah yeah,” Izuku acted nonchalant, but the glimmer of tears indicated how he truly felt, “now go show that villain who’s boss.” 

Kaneki smiled. 

**“Gladly”**

* * *

Five seconds for his body to regenerate. Two seconds for him to assess the new situation he had been thrust into. Overhaul was already walking away. Somehow, the camera was already destroyed, and he sent a silent word of thanks to the boy who didn’t exist as he picked up his mask and slipped it back on before snapping his fingers. 

The thing with Overhaul (the Quirk, not the person) was that it was a Quirk that largely relied on touch and reaction time. Which was why instead of turning the room into a sea of spikes, Kaneki decided to go for something far more cruel. With several quick strikes to sever the nerves and tendons in the man’s arms, he disabled the use of the Quirk. Just to add insult to injury, he spun the man around before ripping his arms from his sockets, enjoying the way the Yakuza boss screamed at the sudden dismemberment. Making a note to consume them later, he threw the man onto the floor and with another thought, created shackles to keep him in place. Stepping away from the world, he allowed a persona similar to that of Jason to guide his hand. 

“Now then, Mr Big Yakuza Man,  _ let’s have some fun. _ ” 

Just like he had done to Ayato once upon a time, he broke as many bones as he possibly could while keeping the villain alive. Reminding himself that a ghoul’s constitution was far better than that of a human, he moved on to torture. Ripping out toenails before removing the digits entirely. Using thin pieces of his kagune like scalpels in order to zip open flesh. A part of his brain screamed in horror at the deeds he was committing, but the far larger, darker part of him just thought of the countless things this man had done and would do. His hands remained steady for the entire process, and he only stopped when the man was a breath away from dying. Kaneki got to his feet, ignoring the raspy pleas for someone to end it all. 

The monster clad in human flesh exited the room, leaving the human pretending to be a monster to slowly die from oxygen deprivation. The cruel and callous leader of the Eight Precepts of Death, a man who had stained his hands with so much blood, someone who, in another world, would be brought down during a clash of titans, died not with a bang, but a whimper. A footnote in history rather than a chapter.

* * *

Eri awoke when her door creaked open. Hiding under her blankets, she prayed that Father wouldn’t hurt her today, even though she already knew what was going to happen. Soft footsteps stopped before her bed, and when no cold voice told her to get up or no rough hands dragged her out of bed for misbehaving, the girl warily lowered her blankets to see what was going on. 

Her eyes met that of a new face, one that was young and with a jagged scar tracing the edge of his jaw. The boy was crouching in front of her, eyes tracing over the bandages she wore in order to hide the ugly scars so similar to the one he displayed so proudly. Almost as in response to the unspoken questions in her head, the boy smiled, one that was gentle and made Eri feel warm inside. Slowly, he extended a hand in her direction, and she resisted the urge to flinch when it touched her hair, awaiting the pain she was expecting for disobeying. 

But to her surprise, the boy merely started running his fingers through her hair gently, a sensation that was as foreign as it was soothing. Slowly, she began to relax, even though a part of her screamed that this was another trick by Father, another way to remind her that she was going to be stuck here forever. After some time, he withdrew his hand and the girl nearly reached out to chase it before remembering her place. They watched each other in silence, a boy and girl with eyes that were far too old for their bodies. It took a while, but something finally clicked into place inside her head.  _ He’s like me _ . 

Hesitantly, she reached out to pat his cheek, wondering why someone with such a comforting smile just felt so sad to her. He looked surprised, but that surprise melted away into a grateful smile, one that made Eri feel better about herself than she had in a long time, because it was a smile in response to something that she had done. He reached out slowly, wrapping her in an embrace that was just tight enough to remind her of her blankets before getting up, still lifting her in his arms. One of his arms supported her while he ran his other hand through her hair once more, a gesture that made her close her eyes and curl into the nice boy, hoping that this wasn’t a dream. 

She didn’t know how long the boy was walking, but when his hand stopped its movements, she opened her eyes to figure out what was wrong, only to forget her concerns in favour of the shock running through her. She was out of the bad place. The night was silent, and there was no one stopping them, even though they must have walked through the entire building. 

“Hey Eri-chan,” she turned at the sound of the soft voice to meet a kind smile and eyes that were tired but happy, “it’s all over. You’re free now.” 

“Free?” she asked, curious about the word and how it tasted right on her lips. The white-haired boy nodded twice, his smile growing. 

“He can’t hurt you anymore. No one can.” disbelief warred with hope in her heart, but looking at the open, honest face of her saviour, the only thing she could feel was relief. Wriggling in his grasp so that she was facing him, Eri leaned forward to hesitantly wrap her arms around his neck. She tried not to cry, because when she cried bad things would happen to her and this was the best thing to ever happen to her and she didn’t want it to ever endpleasepleaseplease...

Her increasingly frantic thoughts were stopped when he adjusted his grip in order to nuzzle her cheek. Startled at the sudden movement, Eri blinked, mind momentarily silent. Looking around, she drank in every sight, still not quite believing that she was done with Father just yet. A finger tapped her back, and she turned once more to look at the boy, then followed his gaze upwards. 

The sky was dark, but not empty. Bright points of light were everywhere, and they glimmered, twinkling as she watched them with awe. Her lips twitched briefly, trying to form the expression she had seen on the boy’s face. 

The sky was full of stars. 

And Eri was free. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know...this is kind of embarrassing. I managed to write a chapter longer than the previous one over the course of...what, 4 hours? Oh well. So, this chapter introduces Eri-chan!!! She deserves so much more than what I can give her, but I tried my best. I feel as though Kaneki and Eri would make a good fit, almost like Kaneki and Hinami in Tokyo Ghoul. The next chapter will probably feature the Todorokies, so do stay tuned for that. Tell me how I did. All comments are appreciated. Once again, I do hope that you enjoy this chapter. See ya next time. 


	4. I see fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This stopped being their home a long time ago Todoroki Enji,” the boy’s hand curled into a fist and it was clear that he longed for nothing more than to kill the Number Two Hero right there and then, “and you stopped being their father around the same time you locked Rei-san up in a psychiatric ward.” the man snarled at his words, struggling against the restraints, still unable to use his Quirk. For the first time in their lives, the Todoroki family was watching someone other than All Might dwarf their father despite being maybe close to half his size. Had he always been so small? 
> 
> The white-haired boy threw the man across the room and into a wall, where red tendrils immediately sprouted to pin him to the structure. Fuyumi gasped, a sharp and sudden sound that snapped Shouto out of his daze just in time to quickly extinguish the laughter that threatened to bubble to the surface.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s a little weird having so much time, especially after the frantic way I’ve been going about the last few weeks. This weekend is probably the last time I’ll be able to relax for an entire day in a long while and I’m using it to write. Unlike most people my age, the only vice I have is writing. And reading, technically. It’s soothing to just spend hours typing away with music in the background and no one to shout at you, but it also consumes you. All I can think of is just more things that I can write, more ideas to put onto a document and I can’t stop myself. The Google Docs that I can’t write in anymore because of the word limit says plenty about my addiction to words. Still, better than listening to the voices in my head and my own parents telling me I’ll never amount to anything in life. If it wasn’t obvious by now, I really need therapy. All the depressing things in my life aside, let’s begin.

Eri didn’t know what the kind boy wanted to do with her. He had not asked a single thing of her, remaining silent apart from when she got the courage to ask him a question. He supported her almost effortlessly and his hand was still continuing to comb through her hair. As the sky began to brighten, the boy hummed a tune, something slow and sad. She didn’t like the nice boy being sad, but from the way he was smiling as he hummed, she had a feeling that he wasn’t all that sad despite the tune. She wondered if the boy ever felt sad. Immediately after that, she shook her head. It was a silly question. All humans got sad sometimes. And the boy who had saved her was the most human person she had ever gotten to meet. Still, she had a very odd feeling, one that didn’t really make sense considering the fact that she had just met the boy, but Eri still felt that all the bright lights in the sky would go dark if he ever stayed sad. So caught up in her thoughts, it was only after she shook herself from her daze did she realize that the soft noises from her saviour had stopped. She blinked slowly, turning to look at the white-haired boy. His hair was covering his eyes, and the smile on his face was gone. It made her afraid. There was something about him not smiling that just felt like the world had briefly stopped. Suddenly, it felt like all the shadows around them were like alive, monsters creeping and reaching out to touch them. She shivered and burrowed further into his grasp, tucking herself into his chest. Distantly, she listened to the soft thudding of his heartbeat, a steady drum that never sped up or slowed down. It was soothing. Her attention returned to the boy when he nudged her softly with a finger. She spluttered at the touch, pouting slightly when he started to speak. 

“Eri-chan, do you know what the word ‘home’ is?” she thought over the strange word, tasting it on her lips. From what little Father and the rest had taught her (because they were angry with the uselessstupidchildcan’teven **speakuselessuselesscursed** ), she didn’t think that they had touched the word even once. Shaking her head slightly, a little afraid of what he was going to do to her even though this was the only time she had ever felt safe in her life. He smiled, but this time it was something small and sad and reminded her of times spent alone in the dark, wishing that her curse could make herself vanish just so that Father couldn’t hurt her anymore. She didn’t like this smile. It was like the boy was trying to hide the pain he was feeling. For just a moment, before he replied, her mind gave her an image of her saviour walking down a dark path, head held high and that same smile on his face. He looked incredibly lonely. She shivered despite how warm his body was. It brought back far too many bad memories. 

“Home is, well, it’s hard to explain,” he scratched a cheek thoughtfully before continuing, “I think you already know that where you stay is considered a ‘house’, right?” she nodded almost immediately. This, at least, she understood. The big building which he had taken her from was what Father had called their house. It was cold, and dark, and terrifying. It was days spent in silence and nights curled up in her blankets, wishing for someone to save her. It was feeling what it was like to die and come back, over and over and over again just so that Father was satisfied. To say the least, she didn’t like her house. She never could, and she never would. It appeared as if the white-haired boy knew whatever she was thinking, because his smile flickered for a fraction of a second to be replaced by the expression she thought Father would have if he ever took off his mask. She thought it was called a snarl. Although, it seemed like too simple a word to describe that look, one that would have sent her running for some place to hide if it was ever directed at her. It was something cold and hot at the same time, something made of scars and smiles, an expression that spoke of impossible fury. It made her feel as though she would never come to harm if he was standing between her and someone else, and it also made her feel as though it would be the last thing she would ever see if he was standing between someone else and her. Eri wondered if it was the last thing Father and the others saw before the boy had given her the gift of freedom. 

“Ignoring the fact that I want to go back and burn that place down, let me continue with my explanation. See, we call something a house if it is some place that we live in for a long period of time. For some, it might be their entire life. For others, they might constantly move from house to house because of...reasons. Houses are things, physical things like you and I. They are simply buildings. But a home, on the other hand,” his smile became a little more real as he trailed off, “a popular saying back where I came from was ‘home is where the heart is’. It felt a little childish to me when I first heard it, but after all I’ve seen and done, I can’t say that it is entirely inaccurate. Home could be a place. It could be anywhere you want. It just has to have meaning to you.” he had been walking for quite some time, and the few other people she had seen along their path from time to time no longer showed up as they closed in on a series of buildings. They were dark and appeared to be empty. It felt like no one had lived there in a long time. Surrounding the buildings was a fence made of wire, rectangular signs were posted every few meters. As they drew even closer, Eri noticed that the signs had big, red letters on them. They said “ABANDONED PROPERTY, KEEP OUT.” Before she could really question why the boy had brought them here, he whispered for her to hold on tight. Eri only had a few seconds to figure out what he meant before he crouched, tensing slightly as she quickly wrapped her arms around his neck. Not too long after, he jumped over the fence in a single leap, much to her amazement. He landed softly, and dusted his legs off briskly before resuming his walk. Approaching a doorway with chains across it, he snorted softly, before raising his free hand and sweeping downwards, tearing the chains off like they weren’t there in order to stop anyone from passing through. 

“Home could also be the people you love. For normal people, it would be their family and friends. For people like you and I...well, I lost my family a long time ago. And I don’t think you’ve ever had a family, have you? In a sense, we would be two sides of the same coin. I lost everything I could call my home a long time ago. And you haven’t even discovered your home in the first place. So, forgive me if I’m misreading the situation, Eri-chan.” he reached into the darkness in order to hit something and with a click, the room lit up. She looked around in wonder. It was far bigger than the tiny room she had been stuck in when she was back with Father. The walls were a light blue, far more pleasing to the eyes than the harsh white of where she used to live. A couple of odd looking chairs were scattered throughout the room, with a surprisingly big bed tucked away into a corner. Fascinated, she noticed that there was a strangely high number of stuffed animals on the bed, with the occasional one on the chairs as well. She wondered how soft they were. Once, she had managed to convince one of Father’s helpers to get one for her. It was the only thing she had, and she had treated it with great care. Eri felt her mood dim as she remembered how Father had gotten angry enough to destroy it in front of her one day when she tried to escape. Her saviour started speaking once more after lowering her to the ground and wordlessly gesturing for Eri to go wherever she wanted to go. Hesitantly, she settled into one of what she hoped were chairs(it was so soft!) and grabbed a plushie and tucked her face into it(sooooooft!) as words tumbled from his mouth. 

“I thought that it would be fitting for the two of us to start on a clean page. The bad men can’t hurt you anymore. I made sure of that. And considering how I got here...I don’t really have anything important to me. So, well, this is a little embarrassing,” he scratched his cheek once more and blushed slightly, “but I thought that we could try to start a home here. Together.” 

“Together?” she asked, pressing her face further into the plushie(a unicorn!), wondering if he was suggesting what she thought he was suggesting, despite not wanting to get her hopes up. He nodded enthusiastically, spreading his arms widely. 

“Exactly. Well, more people might join us soon, more people like you and I. More people that I need to save. This could be our home. I could look after you and you could look after me. That is, if you want to stay here,” his smile flickered once more, “I wouldn’t mind if you feel like I’m not the person you want to stay with. I’m dangerous.” 

“Are you going to hurt me?” the words came out of her mouth before she could even think. The boy gave her a confused look, shaking his head almost immediately. 

“Are you going to leave me?” he shook his head once more and Eri tilted her head, confused. 

“So why wouldn’t I want to live with you, mister?” the white-haired boy blinks rapidly, the smile on his face growing even as he begins to laugh. It’s a quiet sound, one that was nice to listen to. She wanted to hear more of it. Eri’s lips twitched, and she tried to smile. He edged forward slowly, but crossed the room in a couple of strides before kneeling down and wrapping his arms around her. Hesitantly, she leaned forward to pat his back even as he shook with laughter. 

“It’s just that easy, isn’t it? Also Eri-chan,” she couldn’t see his face, but she could tell that he was still smiling, “my name is Kaneki Ken. But you can call me whatever you like.” she thought over the name. It seemed to fit him, despite the fact that she didn’t know what it meant. She tried to smile once again, and this time, it felt just a little bit easier to do so. 

“Thank you for saving me...Kenchan!”

* * *

Kaneki didn’t think that it was possibly to die from a cuteness overload like some of the more lighthearted things he had attempted to read once upon a time before stumbling upon the type of works that he would continue to pursue until he ran out of time to read. Actually, come to think of it, it was really around the time he fell into the world of ghouls. Still, when Eri had called him Kenchan...he felt as though his soul had ascended back to the realm of nothing that he had just escaped from. After trying his best not to spontaneously combust, he had shown her around the small complex he had claimed as his own. The room was pretty much tailored to fit her preferences, with an abundance of things he thought would be suitable for a girl of her age(although he secretly did enjoy sinking into the beanbags he had pilfered, buried under soft toys). Judging from the way her eyes glittered when he had answered the unspoken question of whether or not she could carry the unicorn plushie she had quickly gotten attached to, he had made the right choice. He had made sure to child proof as much as possible, and despite the fact that she and many others had nearly slipped from his mind as he tried to keep the memories from disappearing like grains of sand slipping through his fingers  the same way his family had as the world burned around them.  He shook himself from the dark thoughts that were threatening to encapsulate his being. He returned his attention to the book Eri had demanded he read after some deliberation. The girl in question had been awfully hesitant about asking anything for herself(and it made him all the more happy that he had practically torn Overhaul apart), but after some coaxing, they were now situated on one of the beanbags with a small stack of books within arm’s reach. It had surprised him how willing she was to be sitting against him(or rather, on him), but when he thought about it, it made a decent amount of sense. After all, this was a touch-starved young child that was just experiencing the first bit of positive attention for what was probably the first time in her life. And he couldn’t exactly say that it wasn’t therapeutic. With how sensitive his skin was to touch right now, Eri was helping with getting used to all the new nerves(which were even more raw considering he had willingly gotten half his body erased from existence). So, win-win. 

He was snapped out of his thoughts when Eri’s head lolled to the side, landing gently on the side of his arm. Kaneki blinked, then looked at the clock and almost face-faulted when he realized that it was evening once more. Considering he had liberated the poor girl somewhere between midnight and early morning and how much they had done the entire day, he couldn’t exactly be surprised that her batteries were already dry. Laughing softly, he carefully set aside the book in his hands before lifting her up. Treading quietly, he put Eri to bed with the precision of someone attempting to defuse a bomb, making sure to set her unicorn plushie within reach. Ensuring that the blanket couldn’t fall off at the slightest gust of wind, Kaneki leaned down and along with a sudden surge of affection, brushed her hair out of her eyes. He made a mental note to grab some toiletries for her soon, especially things that could help with her hair. He sighed and turned off the lights as he exited the room. Reaching into his back pocket, he slipped on his mask. Kaneki had made sure not to wear it around Eri, considering she might have some PSTD with people who covered their face. And considering how the original mask Uta had commissioned for him was the stuff nightmares were made of, he would rather not traumatize the girl further. He was reluctant to leave her alone, but he was on a time limit. He would just have to be quick. 

Considering Izuku had committed suicide around the age of thirteen judging from the stray bits of memories that he still held within his head, and he was supposed to meet All Might at the age of fourteen, he had about a year in order to fix as many things as he could. A couple months had been spent ensuring that he had a proper place to stay. And, with his bleeding heart, he had somehow managed to pick up a couple of strays along the way. Kids that were abandoned. Businessmen down on their luck. The occasional woman struggling to fend for herself on the streets. Most of the adults had been suspicious of the white-haired kid offering to help them. It had taken time, and effort, but he had made sure to get them back on their feet. His original source of funds had been...gained from illegitimate means. By illegitimate means he meant that he had broken into the houses of those who were corrupt and wealthy, massacred them and then pilfered their ill-gotten gains. He had made sure to store the bulk of them underneath the abandoned apartment complex he had claimed as his own, under several meters of concrete. Unless someone was actively looking for his resources, they would be safe. Plus, he had plenty of other places where he stored funds for a rainy day. Some of those had gone to the poor souls forgotten by society. To the homeless, a place in the vast apartment complex that he had stumbled upon(literally and figuratively). He refused to look away from those that he could save. 

His house had actually belonged to one of the corrupt billionaires that he had killed. The land, at least. He made sure to grab the deed to the plot of land when he found it in a drawer. The billionaire had evicted people, and most certainly some of those he had found on the streets. There was, of course, a chance that someone who wasn’t supposed to be there would stumble upon the place. With a little bit of tweaking and help from someone with a oddly specific and convenient Quirk (Obsfucation, the ability to conceal a structure, no matter how large, from the senses of anyone not supposed to notice it. Also ensures that Quirks cannot detect the structure, and anyone in the vicinity not supposed to be there would instinctively leave), he was certain that no one would find it if they were there to bring harm. And if they did...he felt a familiar cold rage settle in the bottom of his stomach even as he grappled towards his next destination, more puzzle pieces shifting and clicking into place as he thought about how he could go about this. 

The less said about that the better.

* * *

For once, the Todoroki family were all under the same roof. Fuyumi wasn’t busy, Natsuo hadn’t stayed overnight with one of his friends. Shouto was far too busy dodging his sperm donor’s blows to focus much on the implications of that stray thought. Huffing slightly, he sent another wave of ice in response to the blazing inferno that was heading his way. As per normal, it was quickly melted and he had to roll out of the way of the remnants of the attack. Wincing as the flames licked at his sleeves, Shouto wondered how many bruises and burns he could gain this time when the sound of glass shattering drew both their attention. It catches Endeavour off guard long enough for Shouto to regain some distance between the two of them as a thousand and one plans bounce around in his head. Growling, he barks out an order that he tunes out, striding towards the door. Before he can open it, however, a sudden bang accompanied by the door smashing into Endeavour’s face removes that chance. Still, as much as he hates the man who was responsible for his cursed left side, Shouto has to admit that he wouldn’t have become the Number Two Hero without some modicum of ability. A quick flare of fire incinerates the door, and the teenager quietly prepares an ice wall in case his father forgets that he is in the room. However, it appears that his concerns are unfounded when a small figure quickly slides under the remnants of the door and sinks...something into his father’s knee. Endeavour roars in anger, pulling the red object out and sending a blast of fire that quickly sputters and extinguishes after a couple of seconds, much to the surprise of the two original people in the room. Still, the damage is done. The intruder is more fire than human at this point, and Shouto wonders how they still stand despite the horrible agony that they must currently be feeling. 

The flaming figure gets to their feet and immediately tears what was probably their clothing from their body before diving into a roll. It manages to smother most of the fire currently consuming them, and any remnants are quickly extinguished with a couple of sharp slaps. The figure turns to face them, revealing a grotesque mask. It looks like something that would be more suited on the face of a demon from myths and legends rather than on such a small, almost child-like individual. A single eye is uncovered, pulsing with red veins and looking as if it was dipped in ink. The fire appears to have done no damage to them somehow, and in a single fluid motion, they slash an arm through the air in Endeavour’s direction. Red mist blossoms from their back as they do so, solidifying into suspiciously sharp-looking tentacles that collide with his father, who is still trying to activate his Quirk. They tear through his hasty defence with sheer force alone, wrapping around him and lifting him into the air with ease. Before Endeavour can bark out a few curses(or probably order him to help his father), soft laughter fills the air. It is a quiet sound, something barely audible and yet loud enough to capture both of their attention. Shouto feels a chill run down his spine, and he does his best to suppress his reflexes. This person had just taken down the Number Two Hero in an instance, even going as far as to ensure he was (relatively) unscratched. Anything the son of Endeavour could do would probably just anger the enigma. Still, listening to the laughter made him want to run and hide. For the first time, he feels like an ant before a giant, and yet, there is no familiar hatred, the hatred he feels whenever he has to get to his feet only in order to be kicked down once more. He feels something akin to awe. 

The figure turns to him and stabs a finger in the general direction of the broken down door. 

“Let’s talk.”

* * *

They gather in the living room. Fuyumi, Natsuo, himself, their sperm donor and the masked person. He watches impassively as the red tendrils lash Endeavour to a chair, some unknown feeling in his stomach. Fuyumi looks like the only thing stopping her from rushing up and helping their father is sheer fear at the ominous aura oozing from the intruder, promising pain to anyone who interferes. He would have expected Natsuo to be a step or two away from laughing in the face of the Number Two Hero, but much to his confusion, his older brother looks strangely conflicted over seeing their father so powerless. They stand in silence, minus the constant stream of curses from the captured man, but even he quietens when the masked figure begins to speak. 

“Todoroki Enji. If I had known what kind of person you were in person, I would have just killed you and moved on with my life. Unfortunately, I know what it’s like to grow up not knowing your father. Something in me says that you can be redeemed. And yet…” they tilt their head in a mocking manner, fingers twitching slightly, drawing Shouto’s gaze to pale arms marred with numerous scars. Some looked like they were the aftermath of well-treated burns, but others made the person appear to be a doll that had been taken apart and put back together over and over again. 

“Parents are supposed to protect their children. Not scar them. Not beat them. And definitely not train them to become weapons. You’re no better than a monster in my book. And this is coming from me,” the dual-haired boy could sense a smile lurking underneath those bared teeth, “a bonafide monster. Originally, I would do to you what those  _ bastards _ did to a little girl I took in, so similar to your children.” the masked individual stepped forward to backhand the Number Two Hero, and in the silence, the resounding smack of flesh against flesh is deafening. 

**“And tear you to shreds small enough that even the crows would think twice before eating the scraps.”**

Shouto shivered once more, instinctively stepping back as something primal in him reared its head and screamed for the boy to run away once more. From the rapidly paling faces of the other two members of the Todoroki family currently not bound by tentacles, they felt the same. The tentacles appeared to be responding to the emotions of their owner, tightening around the bound Pro-Hero. In typical Endeavour fashion, he immediately began to start barking insults. 

“My Shouto will be the one to surpass All Might! And he should be grateful for my training! I think that you do not understand what you mean when you say that this is not their ‘home’, do you  _ villain _ ?” and now, the teenager feels like he’s going to be the one to punch his father in the face. Still, the sudden urge of anger he feels is minute in comparison to the overpowering  _ rage _ that he could feel from the masked individual. Despite their hands trembling with barely repressed fury, the white-haired enigma unmasks themselves to reveal a youthful face twisted into a guttural snarl. A single long scar traces the side of his jaw that was facing them, and it looks suspiciously similar to the one over half of his own face. 

“This stopped being their home a long time ago Todoroki Enji,” the boy’s hand curled into a fist and it was clear that he longed for nothing more than to kill the Number Two Hero right there and then, “and you stopped being their father around the same time you locked Rei-san up in a psychiatric ward.” the man snarled at his words, struggling against the restraints, still unable to use his Quirk. For the first time in their lives, the Todoroki family was watching someone other than All Might dwarf their father despite being maybe close to half his size.  _ Had he always been so small?  _

The white-haired boy threw the man across the room and into a wall, where red tendrils immediately sprouted to pin him to the structure. Fuyumi gasped, a sharp and sudden sound that snapped Shouto out of his daze just in time to quickly extinguish the laughter that threatened to bubble to the surface. He knew that his sister still believed that they could be a family again. This outsider, this avenging angel with burn scars twisting along his exposed arms and with eyes that were as cold as ice, had ripped apart the fragile peace that they had lived in for years in a matter of minutes. He should feel terrible that his father was being beaten up like he was a mere child. 

But all Shouto could do was smile. The twitching of his lips, as small as the movement was, was apparently enough for the boy’s eyes to flick in his direction. When their gazes meet, the boy’s eyes soften slightly, thawing just enough for Shouto to see that there is clarity in his fury. Dangerous, truly. While his father might rage like a madman, this child, of all people, understood how to channel his feelings. It was terrifying. And awe-inspiring. The tendrils recede into the white-haired boy’s back as his eye faded back to the same sliver-grey that his other eye already was. He looked almost human, except for the way he carried himself. Deft, assured. Like an old man trapped in the body of a child. 

“They didn’t need training, Todoroki Enji. THEY NEEDED PROTECTION,” he screams in the face of the stricken Pro-Hero, sweeping an arm across the room to gesture at the young adults, “THEY ARE CHILDREN, DAMN YOU! CHILDREN THAT NEEDED A FAMILY TO LOVE THEM! CHILDREN DON’T NEED TRAINING, THEY NEED TO UNDERSTAND WHAT IT’S LIKE TO FEEL SAFE!” he takes a deep breath, and looks so much smaller than the imposing figure he had cut before, almost as if the little outburst had physically drained him. The boy lowers his face, and something on it glistens in the low light. Shouto realizes just as he swipes at his face that the boy was crying. Several seconds of silence pass before another sharp inhale indicates the boy is beginning to speak once more. 

“I’m giving all of you a choice. Either you can stay here with your father...or you can come with me. I can’t exactly promise much. But there are several things,” he paused and turned to look at them, “for example, a proper home for one. Somewhere you won’t need to live in fear of a father lashing out whenever he’s angry at the Number One Hero. Somewhere that you can do whatever you wish. Also, I can reunite you all with your mother.” he closes his eyes, seemingly lost in a memory. A sad smile graces his face for a brief instance. 

“As long as I live and breathe, none of you will come to any harm. Not on my watch. So,” he glances at the clock and curses quietly, “choose quickly please. You can always come back here whenever you want. It’s getting late and I need to make sure that she’s still asleep…” he trails off before coughing awkwardly, shifting to the other side of the room in order to make the divide clear. Endeavour looks oddly confident, almost as if he believes that his children will side with him over this intruder. That illusion, along with his triumphant expression, immediately crumbles when Natsuo speaks up. 

“You can get mom out of that shitty hospital?” the white-haired boy blinks for a moment before a smile resurfaces on his face, this time with a dark glint to it. 

“I would have done it earlier, but things take time, and I thought it would be appropriate to confirm that you all want to leave this house. So the short answer to that question is, of course, yes.” Natsuo looks up and down, seemingly assessing this mysterious child with shadows in his eyes. Satisfied with whatever he saw, Shouto’s brother steps across the room to stand beside the intruder. They exchange a glance, and the smile on the younger of the two brightens considerably. Natsuo appears to be relaxed, more relaxed than he has been in a long time in the presence of the flaming garbage heap. Before their father can interrupt, Shouto makes his choice as well. 

He steps across the room, unconsciously seeking out Natsuo’s hand as he does so. Surprisingly, his older brother takes it in his own, and he feels much more at peace. He tries his best not to smile at the way his father looks as if he has been slapped a second time. Shouto opens his mouth, and finally speaks what has been on his mind for years. 

“I’ve always hated you. For hurting mom. For cursing me with this left side of mine. Forcing me to seek a dream that you were never strong or brave enough to fight for on your own. To others, you may be the Number Two Hero, one of the most powerful people in Japan,” the dual-haired teenager trails off slightly as he tries to find the right words, “but to me, you’ll always be a villain.” Endeavour flinches, and actually looks shocked for once in his life. A soft snort comes from the white-haired boy, and Shouto glances over to see his shoulders shake in restrained laughter. Silence falls, and as one, their eyes turn to the one member of the room that has yet to speak. For a moment, a hint of doubt enters the teenager’s mind. His sister has always been the one that tried to repair their family. She might just stay with their father. Still, he maintains hope. Something is different about his normally soft-spoken sister. For one, she doesn’t look as frail as she normally was. Her eyes are hard, displaying the same steel that the mysterious boy had just shown. She swallows, and then speaks. 

“I always thought that there was a way for us to be a family again. Even with mom in the hospital, I thought that there was a chance that, well, things could get better. I held onto that hope, even when I had to bandage Shouto’s wounds and pretend that I couldn’t hear the sounds of your ‘training’. But, what he just said...well, I can’t believe that I’ve never thought about it that way. I’ve always thought that my duty was protecting my siblings until mom came back, but why would I even need to protect them if you were the father you were supposed to be? He’s right, you know? This stopped being a home a long time ago.” Fuyumi falls silent, and Endeavour gapes, silent for once. 

“Fuyumi…”

“Goodbye Todoroki-san.” she steps forward to join the group, taking Shouto’s other hand and squeezing it. The white-haired boy’s smile widens further, and he gives them each a nod. Stepping forward, he touches the red restraints and they seem to slither towards him, wrapping around his arms and disappearing into his sleeves. Endeavour falls to the floor, kneeling. Shocked. He reaches out towards them, like he could grasp what he had just lost. The boy strides across the room to open the door, gesturing for them that it was time to go. And so, they do.

* * *

Kaneki watches impassively as the broken man trembles, his family turning their back on him. Before he closes the door, he decides to leave the Pro-Hero with a warning. 

“You may be a good hero, Endeavour, but from what I’ve seen, you have a long way to go before you become a good person. Perhaps you can be redeemed. I’ll be watching you. And if you ever try to do anything to the ones under my protection…” he lets a hint of his killing intent bleed into the room, just enough to turn the atmosphere suffocating. Kaneki thinks that it’s enough of a warning. Cutting it off before it can seep into the surroundings, he closes the door on the empty house. 

And leaves a man to his demons. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters are getting longer and I really don’t know what to dooooooo. It started off fluffy and just catapulted straight into angst. Apologies for that. How did I do with Eri’s POV? I wasn’t sure about how to write from the perspective of a child. Perhaps it’s because I wasn’t much of a child, or never had much of a childhood. If, for some reason, there are young teenagers reading this...don’t be in a hurry to grow up. Childhood is fleeting. In any case, I do hope that you enjoyed the chapter. I’m sorry about the depressing ANs. It’s not exactly like I can share this with anyone. At least, this way, I can actually express what I’m thinking. Anyway, if y’all think that this is too depressing, I’ll keep any bits about my own troubles to a minimum. See ya next time!


	5. Outrunning Karma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The answer, Nedzu, is that you do nothing.” Eyepatch almost spat the words dismissively, a single tendril winding around his arm like an overly-affectionate snake. Once again, Aizawa could sense that their opponent was smiling underneath his mask. He hated it, but clearly not as much as the Principal did. It had been a long time since he had seen the enigmatic rodent look so out of place, looking as small as he physically was for once. 
> 
> “You will not hunt me down. You will not manipulate me. You will do nothing in order to stop me from accomplishing what I have set out to do. Why? Because you can’t do anything. You have no information with which you can force my hand, no threats that will hold firm. And even if you did…” he trailed off, abruptly snapping a knuckle. 
> 
> “I’ll do to you what I did to Overhaul.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is more for me to combat the anxiety I’m feeling about the examinations. If it gets posted before the exams, something’s wrong with me. In any case, let’s begin. 

It had been two weeks since he had liberated the Todoroki family from the demon spawn that was their father. They had settled in magnificently, Fuyumi-san taking it upon herself to ensure that the multitude of abandoned children and young teenagers that he had given a place to stay were still getting education. Naturally, he made sure to get her the resources that she needed. Out of the goodness of his own heart. Totally not because it gave him an excuse to burn down several schools.  Including Aldera Middle School. His little kingdom had grown exponentially, and with it came many more opportunities. An information network of those with wanderlust, appreciative of the help he had given but reluctant to stay in the compound. He hadn’t realized the sheer number of them that actually existed. Several had what were considered “villainous” or “weak” Quirks, and using the knack for analysing that Izuku had kindly taught him, he had created a security force. Hunters, even. With Eri in the picture, he couldn’t just ignore sleep and soldier on for days on end to save as many as he could. With enough time and training, he would be able to establish a syndicate with himself at the top. Kaneki attempted to push the whispers in his head that stated he would be no better than a mob boss. He was. 

He wasn’t a good person. Not by a long shot. His hands were positively drenched in blood, and everything he did, everyone he saved, all of it was merely a fraction of atonement for his multitude of sins. Even despite the promise that he had made to Izuku to use this second chance at life wisely, he had done nothing to bring death and destruction alongside him. Unfortunately, as much as the “divine” flesh that he had consumed acted as a supplement for his diet(and probably shifted his genetic code a little bit more to the side of monsters), he still required human flesh in order to keep his RC levels up. Especially since he had decided the best way to take Eri from her tormentors was to raze the compound as a one man army. Although considering the alternate universe that he was in, human RC count was almost equivalent to the small amounts of sustenance that he once used to quell his hunger(old man Yoshimura’s sugar cubes), either he needed to find a new source of cells or commit several more massacres. And limit himself. Then again, that was what he was planning to do in the first place. And judging from the brief surge he had obtained from consuming Overhaul’s Quirk factor, that might be the equivalent of RC cells in this universe. Still, that would mean that if he truly wanted to keep his count up, he would have to figure out some way to consume an entire human every two months or so, depending on how quickly he burned through the reserves he had. With the plans he was preparing to put into place however, Kaneki was confident that his RC levels would stay comfortably high for the foreseeable future. A brief mental image of a purple monstrosity with an exposed brain surfaced in his head and he grimaced. In the original universe, Aizawa Shouta would have his Quirk permanently damaged by that incident, and if he could prevent it, he would. 

The next thing he would need to do was to figure out how to engineer an RC-suppressant, or check to see if Quirk suppressants worked on his abnormal nature. One thing he was going to do differently from Izuku( _ at least this Izuku _ , his mind whispered and he furrowed his brows) was that he was going to get into UA without a Quirk. Nor without his ghoul strength. It would be a return to basics, and allow him the opportunity to start changing the events previously set into stone. There were many things about this world that rubbed him the wrong way, and the parallels he could draw between ghouls and the portion of the population with “weak” and “villainous” Quirks were much too close for comfort. It took more than one person to change the world, but change the world he had, and change this world he would. Kaneki Ken had been crowned King for a reason. He wasn’t just going to roll over and die. Stretching slightly, he finished his latest entry in the journal of events he had begun to keep, closing it and slipping it into one of the many pouches on his waist. Not looking, he snatched his jacket off a wall and donned it, making sure to adjust it so the many knives(pieces of his kagune attached to makeshift hilts, versatile yet easy to hide) strapped to the insides of it wouldn’t press against several uncomfortable positions. Running through his agenda for the day, he peeked into the neighbouring room and smiled upon seeing Shouto gingerly interacting with Eri. Kaneki was still trying to figure out how to navigate the strange relationship that had formed between himself and the girl that he had liberated from that god-forsaken place. There was a kinship between them, a bond between two broken people that still held on to the broken bits of themselves. Yet, she appeared to view him as some sort of brother or father figure. He had mixed feelings about that. In no world did he want someone as young and impressionable as Eri to look up to  _ him _ of all people. The man with the blood of thousands on his hands. The pathetic individual who couldn’t even hold on to his principles. Who couldn’t save anyone. And then there was the issue of her Quirk. From the files he had managed to pilfer(and the couple of drugs he had taken before destroying the rest), it was clear that she had one of the most incredible abilities in this world. It had potential to save. But it also had potential to destroy. If nothing else, he would have to impart that lesson on her. Shouto would be good for her. Well, they would be good for each other. Closing the door softly, he continued his trek through the compound. 

Fuyumi looked up from the book she was reading as he walked by, an indecipherable emotion flickering across her face before she closed it, standing up to tag along. He said nothing, knowing that she would want to be there for what he was about to do. Stepping out of the front door, the duo found Natsuo leaning against a wall, lifting a cigarette to his lips. The siblings bickered half-heartedly even as he too fell into step behind him. He wrestled with the urge to warn them about how this might turn them into outlaws. Criminals no better than him. Yet, thinking about how Endeavour had tormented them ever since they had been born made Kaneki reflexively bite down on the remarks before they could escape his mouth. Instead, he compromised. 

“Do the two of you have your masks?” 

Kaneki smiled when the brother-sister pair pulled them out, nodding his approval. 

“It’s showtime.”

* * *

**Excerpt from the case file of The Eyepatch (for other linked case files, see “The Nameless King”)**

**At approximately 10.06 a.m. (GMT+9), three individuals walked through the front door of Hosu General Hospital. The receptionist on duty (Kioku Toru, Quirk “Snapshot”) stated that she only realized that something was wrong when the doors shut behind them with a loud crash, held in place by what appeared to be red wires (see Annex 1) and the fact that all three were wearing masks. She noted how the shortest of the three appeared to be the leader, and described the mask they were wearing as “gruesome” and “with a distinct eyepatch”. Later, the leader was confirmed to be Eyepatch when she was shown a photo of the suspect. The other two appeared to be young adults judging from their height and size, both wearing identical white full-face masks. The masks were plain, with nothing other than slits for the eyes (the female’s had a smile while the male’s had a frown). Ms Kioku mentioned how Eyepatch was “very polite” and requested the hospital room of Todoroki Rei. Even when she refused, he did nothing other than nod, apologize for the mess he was going to make before raising a hand and directing a tendril into a security guard’s face.**

**In the course of the trio’s methodical search of the complex, several other guards were also subdued quickly and efficiently. Many unfortunate witnesses reported that they attempted to contact the authorities or escape, only to be met with nothing but failure. This confirms the presence of a fourth, unknown party, or the fact that they had come prepared with a signal jammer strong enough to encapsulate the entire hospital. All escape routes were blocked off with more “red wires”, which proved nigh-unbreakable, only suffering damage to a patient’s fire Quirk, and even then they reacted violently, causing the aggressor to suffer a broken arm and collarbone.**

**They left at 10.19 a.m. (GMT+9) along with Ms Todoroki Rei. While she appeared to be shaken, the woman left willingly with the trio. They encountered no resistance other than a single Pro-Hero that had been passing by (“Dawnbringer”, Rank 304) who attempted to confront them before Eyepatch knocked him out with a single strike.**

**_Why would they take Endeavour’s wife? No demands were ever made. Eyepatch never does anything without a reason, and judging from what we know, he works for someone with enough eyes and ears to be considered omnipotent. With the disappearance of the Todoroki family...this doesn’t bode well for the Number Two Hero._ **

**_He wishes to send a message._ **

* * *

**T̶̖̻̗̜͇͙̱͎͈͕͔̯̃̒̿̾̐̇̏̕̚ȋ̴̲̺̮̯̪̫͕̬̦̦̰̤̼͍̎͑̇͛̈͜m̶̭͔͓̩̑̍͊͋̍̐͋͒̆͘͝ȩ̶̳̟̫̻͈̫̞̉̎̋̀̃͐͌̊̚ ̸̢̡̛̛͍̙̰͈͇̰̥͎̲̋̌͜Ş̸̢͓͓̠͔̟͈̞̺̩͙͓͜͝k̷̺̝̼͉͙͍͎̼̲̂ͅi̸̢̨̛̩͎̲̞͎͓̊p̴͖̎̎̐̏̽̋̊͆̊̓̆͐̇̓ͅ:̸̩̿̎̊ ̷̜̤͔̙̿̇2̸̧̨̧̱̱͔͈̹͍͔̝̩̠͚͂̋̂̿̓̋̈́͜͠ ̷̞̟̘̘̥͕̩̮͇̲͆̓̍̋̓̌̿̑̐͛͌͂̑͝ͅm̴̢̱͂͒̐͘o̵͈̯̲̙̟̲̍̍n̴̛̛̗̞̯̭͎̖̱̝̤̐̃͊̚͝͝t̸̢͇̭̲͚͎̤̟̮̟̦͇̫̓͌̃͆͐͘͠͝h̶̢͈̭͈̖̹̹̻̥̆̍̉̿̓̇͐͒͒̈́̾͑̾͘ͅs̶̡̨̛̪͕̺̓͐̏͛̏̑̊̔̀̈́̕͝**

* * *

Akaguro Chizome followed the boy from the rooftops, curiosity building as he analysed the oddity he had chanced upon. While looking to be around thirteen, he held himself with confidence that did not come from arrogance. It was the assurance of a predator, and in this child he saw a reflection of himself. Despite the almost helpless way he held himself, there was a certain tension to the kid’s posture, like a spring that had been coiled far too tightly. There was also the fact that he had been following the white-haired child through the shadier portions of the neighbourhood and there had not been a single attempt to rob the very obvious target. 

He licked his lips in thought, ducking slightly when he abruptly pivoted on one foot to look in the Hero Killer’s general direction. How interesting. The best of those “heroes” had never been able to sense him until it was too late, yet it appeared as though this new enigma already felt his gaze. Smiling to himself, Stain continued to follow the boy, wondering where he was going, what he was doing. Abruptly, his target bolted down an alleyway, with a speed that betrayed his small body. Blinking in surprise, the man followed, darting across rooftops, only to have his instincts blare a warning just in time for him to turn around and block a strike from what appeared to be a tentacle. His eyes darted from the additional three tentacles hurtling towards him even as the first wrapped around his katana and nearly wrenched his arm out of its socket as it attempted to disarm him. He let go of the weapon(there were more where that came from), pulling out two serrated knives in order to deflect two of the three, jumping over the third while tracking the first as it slithered back where it came from. 

Time slowed to a crawl as his eyes traced the stolen katana, moving from the gloved hand it had landed in to the unamused expression of the boy he was just shadowing. Stain bared his teeth in a grotesque smile, and his opponent responded in kind, flicking the blade as if to test its weight before raising it to his face, drawing the older man’s attention to his mismatched eyes. The more normal of the pair was still interesting, a dull grey with flecks of green mixed in. However, it was the other that really caught his attention. It looked almost diseased, or egg white mixed in with an overdose of soy sauce. Most of all, the raw emotion in them gave the Hero Killer pause. They burned with a cold fire that came with conviction set in steel. Those were eyes that belonged to a veteran of war rather than a child in his teens. All these observations he made in seconds as his blades flashed in response to the tentacles barraging him from all angles. The man growled, frustrated at the way his well-maintained weapons did nothing other than shift the organic cudgels away from their target. One managed to skim his leg, and with it came the sting of something sharp cutting into his flesh and he frowned internally. He was outmatched in both weaponry and quantity, but with enough patience, he stood a chance. Forcefully stepping on one while driving his knife through another with enough force to break the concretee underneath, he threw several more knives at the small figure. 

The white-haired boy smiled, an ugly smile with too many teeth and only served to highlight the rippling scar tissue stretching as his jaw tightened. It snaked along the side of the boy’s face, looking like someone had pressed a hot iron against it like a brand. His free hand curled, thumb depressing his index finger and producing an ear splitting crack. His tendrils paused in their onslaught, creeping back to hang in the air near him protectively. He extended a hand, palm to the sky while the one holding the katana hung loosely at his side. 

“I have a question for you, dear Hero Killer.” 

“Speak. You have until my interest runs out.” 

The gloved hand slipped into his jacket, retrieving what appeared to be a mask. Stabbing the weapon into the ground, he used both hands to stretch it over his face. A flicker of apprehension crossed his mind for an instance when the hands fell away to reveal a gaping grin. 

“How confident are you in your ideals?” 

The Eyepatch had arrived.

* * *

Aizawa Shouta was having a discussion with Principal Nedzu when a rattling in the vents caught his attention. He paused briefly in his complaints about how the pending application to be a teacher at UA from the Number One Meathead should be ignored at all cost to look up. The rat seemed mildly concerned, typing away at his computer shortly before the closest thing he had seen to a frown on the genius’ face surfaced. The Underground Hero toyed briefly with the notion of asking what was wrong just before the noise in the vents came to a stop. 

With nothing other than a sudden sharp sound of surprise, a familiar individual tumbled from the vent in the ceiling, bouncing off the floor with a grunt before rolling over into a crouch. Before Aizawa’s mind could properly kick into high gear at the sight of Eyepatch, the boy slammed a hand into the ground. In response, enough tendrils to adequately cover the entire room sprouted like vines. He stretched, rotating his spine, almost casual at the way he had brought two Pro-Heroes to his mercy within seconds. Done with his ministrations, the killer drew up a chair and lounged in it. Aizawa knew that there was a high chance the smile on that blasted mask matched the expression the kid was wearing beneath it. 

“What do you want?” 

“I come bearing a message from the King. And a message of my own.” 

“The King?” Nedzu’s eyes glinted hungrily with his thirst for knowledge, even in the current situation they were in. Aizawa tried his best not to roll his eyes. Eyepatch twirled his hand nonchalantly. 

“Everyone answers to a higher power. My orders just happen to come from a Nameless King. The King of Forgotten Things. Haven’t you heard the whispers? I’m sure Eraserhead knows what I’m talking about.” 

The homeless-looking man tried his best not to lower his gaze when that demonic eye flickere and rotated in its socket to look at him. It was true. His patrol routes had gotten much calmer, and there were much more people willing to frequent the more dangerous areas of town. The informants that were willing to talk to him had begun to clam up one by one, Their excuses ran along the same lines. There was a new, dangerous player roaming the streets. First he assumed it had to be the work of Eyepatch, especially after they had confirmed that he was the one responsible for the massacre of the Eight Precepts of Death. On the other hand…

“My King wishes to make it certain that we do not oppose the heroes in any way, shape or form. We do not seek meaningless conflict.”

“What are your objectives?” 

“He just wants to protect those that you will not. The beaten, the broken, the defeated. He cares for them and as such, will do anything to ensure their continued safety. While there are…unsavoury characters amongst your ranks, we are willing to give the rest of you lot a chance.”

“And what happens if we decide to ignore you? After all, there’s two of you, and hundreds, if not thousands of us. Would you really stand in our way?” Aizawa tried his best not to grimace in disbelief at the way the rat was clearly attempting to rile up their opponent. It was more likely to get them killed than anything else. 

“The answer, Nedzu, is that you do nothing.” Eyepatch almost spat the words dismissively, a single tendril winding around his arm like an overly-affectionate snake. Once again, Aizawa could sense that their opponent was smiling underneath his mask. He hated it, but clearly not as much as the Principal did. It had been a long time since he had seen the enigmatic rodent look so out of place, looking as small as he physically was for once. 

“You will not hunt me down. You will not manipulate me. You will do nothing in order to stop me from accomplishing what I have set out to do. Why? Because you can’t do anything. You have no information with which you can force my hand, no threats that will hold firm. And even if you did…” he trailed off, abruptly snapping a knuckle. 

“I’ll do to you what I did to Overhaul.”

The Principal nodded carefully, seemingly suddenly apparent of the trouble they were in. With a scoff, the tentacles receded, and Eyepatch turned to leave. Before he did, however, the enigmatic murderer stabbed a finger in their direction. 

“And here’s my message. While the King may be willing to give heroes a chance…”

**“I have no such faith in this shitty system.”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey uh...it’s been a while, hasn’t it? I’m really sorry for being gone. Something in me is still missing, and that thing was responsible for all the writing I was able to do. Nevertheless, I will try. Don’t expect the chapters to come out as quick. I was maybe halfway done with this one before the exams. Next chapter, we finally proceed to canon. I do hope you enjoy what’s in store. Wish me luck and see you soon. 
> 
> Glitch Text translation:
> 
> Time Skip: 2 months


	6. Born For This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before he could do anything to stop him from throwing his life away in vain, the boy’s gaze locked with his own, paralysing him. 
> 
> There was a fire in them, and it reminded him of a monster that he had put into the ground, the only one he had fought with lethal intent. For a split second, the small figure was replaced with that of a man in a suit, limbs bulging grotesquely with the strain of multiple Quirks. He blinked twice, and within those moments, the teenager had flung himself over the police barricades, darting towards the slime villain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that if I leave my stories alone, I may stop writing them. So, here I am. Recently most of my time has been used in grinding at Genshin Impact and just lazing around, trying to figure out what to do with my life, so I thought it was about time to be a little more productive. Thank you all for your support on the last chapter. I’ll be going back to writing my other stories (and should be doing it now tbh), but considering this chapter covers canon...I couldn’t resist. All the questions about the Nameless King will be answered in due time. I’d like to think that Kaneki is a planner, and in this reality, moreso. He has been through plenty, and has plenty of knowledge to work with. For now. It’s time for my disagreements with BNHA canon to come to light. Oh, and to the latest person to mention my love of long paragraphs...apologies. I usually write while watching something using splitscreen so paragraph length is something I have a hard time judging. Also, years of reading have caused my knowledge of how long something should be in order for enjoyable reading has decayed. The price of being able to read close to 100k words in less than 2 hours. Do continue telling me so I can edit my chapters.

Yagi Toshinori expected one of two things when he finally climbed through the manhole. One, the villain he had been using a majority of his borrowed time for that day would have been long gone, with only traces of slime to taunt him and the blood churning in his (lack of a) stomach to keep him company as he attempted to salvage the remnants of his three hours. Two, the villain would be there, and all his frantic hunting would have been worthwhile. There was, of course, a third option that only a dark corner of his mind dared to entertain. 

None of the scenarios came true when his battlecry died in his throat upon the grisely sight he was now bearing witness to. The slime villain was writhing on the ground in a smaller form than the Number One Hero had seen earlier, a boy with stark white hair standing nearby, shaking something from his hand. Still, before he could properly assess the situation, the slime villain reared up, screaming as he attempted to envelop the child. Reflexively, All Might lashed out with a smash, quickly draining the cola bottle from his interrupted grocery shopping in order to scoop the scattered bits of sewage into the makeshift containment chamber. A part of him winced and a voice that sounded suspiciously like Gran barked about collateral damage as he watched the white-haired teenager shoot back out of the underpass like a projectile from a cannon. He was jusst about to cap the bottle and (hopefully)get to the boy in time to catch him when the unfortunate victim landed feet first, then skidded backwards a few meters before stopping his slide with a gloved hand. Releasing a breath that he didn’t know he had been holding, the Number One Hero began to open his mouth in order to apologize when the boy growled, raising his head to meet eyes with the older blond. 

His next breath caught in his throat and caused him to internally grimace at the familiar coppery taste of blood as his gaze traced the mess of scar tissue snaking along the side of the child’s face. It gave him a lopsided smile, and judging from the way he was wearing a jacket and jeans in this type of weather, the rest of his body wasn’t much better off. Sensing more than understanding the boy’s bad mood(most likely from being catapulted through the air by a hero after facing a villain) darkening further with the silent analysis of his physical oddities. Choosing his words carefully, Yagi was about to praise him for his calm bravery in the face of danger before a stream of words dripping with acid came pouring out from the teenager’s mouth. 

“For someone who’s supposed to be the Symbol of Peace, you don’t seem to discriminate between civilians and villains. What possessed you to throw a punch that produces air pressure from the speed of your movements alone in an enclosed area? Did you expect me to somehow be immune to it? There were only a couple of things that could have happened when you threw that punch. Either I fly straight out of the tunnel and get my face introduced to the floor or I have an intimate conversation with the nearest wall. I don’t know about you All Might, but that’s enough grounds for a case in court. Although I highly doubt suing the Number One Hero would work. You probably have a team of lackeys dedicated to cleaning up your messes and making sure that does not happen.” 

“I...what? Young man, you must be…”

“Joking? Every word that comes out of my mouth, I believe with a hundred percent certainty All Might. The world may love you, but I definitely don’t. In any case, just leave me alone. My day may have already been ruined, but I don’t need you to ruin it further. See ya never.” 

The boy walked away, hands curled into loose fists. Yagi opened his mouth, then closed it with a sharp click when a surge of what felt like killing intent erupted from the departing individual. Without noticing, his body had already shifted back into a battle stance, every muscle tensed and ready to move. Dismissing the idea that the teenager could do anything to harm him, the adult forced his body to wind back down and started quashing the instincts that screamed for blood. It was merely paranoia talking. Almost as an afterthought, he asked a question before the scarred boy could leave his sight. 

“How did you fight off the villain earlier? Did you use your Quirk in self-defence?” 

A low, bitter chuckle echoed despite the lack of surfaces to cause the phenomenon was the first thing to catch his attention. Next was a sharp crack that sounded exactly like a bone shattering. Third was the glint of a blade appearing in the right hand of the teenager radiating danger, who tossed it into the air just to catch and make it vanish up a sleeve a few seconds later. His gaze met a pair of frigid eyes, sharp as the knife that was definitely hiding underneath those layers of clothing. Suddenly, the unassuming(albeit a little edgy) teenager before him looked far stronger than his lithe figure made him appear. All Might felt his smile fray at the edges when the sardonic grin in response to his question stretched the scar tissue on the boy’s face and looked just at home there despite its probably twisted origins. He hummed, shaking his head. 

“No Quirk here All Might. I’m only human.” 

Not giving him time to register the ripple of surprise coursing through his veins, the teenager walked off at a brisk pace, disappearing round a corner. Finally overcoming his shock, the Number One Hero hurried forward with a word of warning on his lips. From his memory of times before One for All, being Quirkless meant a life of keeping your head down and getting beaten up in the process. While he didn’t exactly know the things that Quirkless individuals needed to put up with now, he had no illusions about how poorly the kid might have been treated. Carrying on with that kind of attitude would speed him forward to an early death. Turning the corner that he had turned mere seconds ago, Yagi frowned when he didn’t find the receding back of a snarky teenager, only an empty path to greet him for his troubles. Sighing, he ignored the voice in the back of his head taking note of the various unusual things that had just occurred. Hurriedly escaping to a nearby rooftop so that he could drop his transformation and take a breather, Yagi Toshinori failed to notice two things of about equal importance. 

One, the soda bottle had fallen out of his pocket, loosening the prison just enough for its sole captive to escape. 

Two, Kaneki Ken had merely concealed himself with the aid of a few shadows, lips curled into a snarl. Tugging his sleeves to satisfy his hands’ need to grip something, he pulled up a mental map and stalked into the distance. 

There was work to be done.

* * *

Yagi Toshinori watched from the midst of a crowd, cursing his own carelessness and what it had led to. His focus on the unnamed Quirkless teenager allowed the villain to escape, and now another child was paying the price for his ineptitude. The spiky-haired blond struggled furiously from inside the slime, explosions firing from his palms. Still, it appeared as though his struggles were futile, considering the fires around them that were preventing the heroes from helping most likely came about due to the continuous explosions. He watched as the four heroes on duty shouted about how their Quirks were useless for the scenario and tried to scrounge up the last dregs of One for All to no avail. The only thing he got for his troubles was a series of coughs wreaking havoc on his lungs and severely damaged internal organs. Still, he continued to fight his weakened body, hoping against hope that someone would come in time to save the day. 

Still, as the seconds went by and the teenager’s struggling grew feeble, nobody came. Yagi closed his eyes, praying for a miracle to occur when an awfully familiar surge of killing intent drew his attention to the white hair bobbing up and down as the Quirkless teen from earlier pushed through the crowd, a crazed smile on his face and a dark look of savage glee in his eyes. Before he could do anything to stop him from throwing his life away in vain, the boy’s gaze locked with his own, paralysing him. 

There was a fire in them, and it reminded him of a monster that he had put into the ground, the only one he had fought with lethal intent. For a split second, the small figure was replaced with that of a man in a suit, limbs bulging grotesquely with the strain of multiple Quirks. He blinked twice, and within those moments, the teenager had flung himself over the police barricades, darting towards the slime villain. Cries of alarm and shock filled the air amidst the smoke and fire, Pro-Hero Death Arms attempting to restrain the white-haired kid as he flew past. With the grace of a gymnast, he planted his hand onto the arms reaching for him and used them to lift himself into the air. With a kick off the back of the adult male’s head, he went airborne with little more than a sound. The light of the fires reflected off the blade in his hand, which appeared long enough for All Might to notice it before it reappeared, buried in the single eyeball of the slime villain and eliciting a very vocal and...creative response. Not wasting any time, the teen dragged the blond with the explosion Quirk out from his temporary prison and threw him towards the shell shocked Pro-Heroes before turning back to face the writhing mass of tentacles, a blade in each hand. What he was going to do next would be left up to imagination, for Yagi was already in the midst of throwing another punch. How could he stand by and watch idly when this brave soul was risking his life without a Quirk to back him up? 

Smiling for the cheering crowd, he chanced a look at the teenager, wondering what he was feeling after encountering a villain twice in the same day. 

The weapons he had been wielding with what seemed like years of experience had already disappeared, and the boy looked like he wanted to do anything but be there and that particular instance. He had brought the hood of his jacket up and over his hair, ducking slightly to make himself smaller. Of course, if he had been trying to slip away unnoticed, he should have probably not stepped into a fight in front of five heroes and a crowd. 

Still, even as his attention was drawn away from the Pro-Heroes attempting to interrogate the boy who had stepped up to do their work for them, a part of his mind mused about how he had found a worthy potential successor. If he was anything like Yagi had been in his youth, the kid would leap at the chance to have a Quirk of his own, even more so one that came from the Number One Hero himself. 

Another, more skeptical part in the back of his head whispered about the way the flames reflected in the boy’s eyes, promising nothing more than pain.

* * *

Bakugou snarled every time one of the shitty paramedics tried to poke and prod at him, choosing to glare daggers at the fucking extra that had “rescued” him. If he had several more seconds, he would have been able to blow that useless villain to kingdom come dammit! The teenager chose to ignore the heroes even as they praised him for “being brave” and having “a hero-worthy Quirk”. Normally extras worshipping the very ground he worked on was something he greatly appreciated(it was always good to have everyone else know their place), but that didn’t remove the fact that he had fucking eyes. He had seen them stand by and do nothing until All Might poofed into existence like he had always been there in the first place(unlikely considering how much space the man took up and how much noise he made just by existing). That meant that they weren’t strong enough to fight a single fucking villain and in his eyes, those were enough grounds to just ignore the lot of them. The white-haired emo looked like he was about to fillet them if they didn’t stop trying to pry information out of him, something that Bakugou could respect considering he had managed to stop the villain with nothing more than a knife. Even though he never needed the help in the first place. 

Still, despite already having his attention focused on the extra, time itself seemed to stop when he finally barked out a response to one of the many questions being thrown his way. 

“I’m Quirkless.” 

Quirkless. The word bounced around in his brain as he tried to comprehend the world-bending nature of the information he had just been delivered. Just briefly, his mind conjured up an image of a smiling teen with green hair, a determined light in his eyes and obnoxious red shoes on his feet. Almost instinctively, his gaze strayed to the equally bright red shoes that the extra was wearing. Still, he dismissed the hope rising in his chest. This guy and Deku were almost polar opposites. He held himself with confidence, confidence that didn’t go away even as the heroes started to tell him how much of a shitty idea it was to charge into a fight against a villain without a Quirk, unlike how Deku would curl into himself every time someone came too close to him. In fact, the sudden change in tone seemed to do nothing to cow the other teenager, rather it appeared to do nothing but make him more irritable judging by the way his smile was starting to look like a snarl. Before the heroes could get too hyped up over how they had been upstaged by a Quirkless teenager, a cold voice cut through the noise. 

**“Shut up.”**

Bakugou shivered violently, then pretended that he hadn’t flinched at all. There was no way in hell he was afraid of the loser. He didn’t have a Quirk. And without a Quirk, you were useless. A Deku. Still, that nagging voice in the back of his head screamed for him to run away and hide before the sheer amount of bloodlust was turned onto him instead of the heroes, who had all stepped back reflexively when the white-haired emo practically screamed at them. He raised his head from its lowered position, revealing eyes that were as icy as his tone had been when he decided to speak. Oddly enough, Bakugou was more focused on the fact that there were flecks of green in the grey orbs of his “saviour”. 

“Four Pro-Heroes, properly trained and experienced can’t even do better than a single Quirkless teenager with a knife. And don’t claim that your Quirks were useless, or ill-suited for defeating a living pile of sludge. Tree-boy could have grabbed him with those branches he was using. The knock-off All Might could have thrown something into its eye like I did. Giantess over there could have straight up scooped him out considering she has big grabby hands. And the living fire hydrant could have just splattered goo-man across the ground with some pressurized water. And that’s just off the top of my head. If you all never thought of that, you lack imagination. Blondy here would be dead and gone because you all are just a bunch of cowards. Now if you’ll kindly go away, I need to move on with the rest of my day.” Pushing through the heroes before they could even try to respond to his ballsy statements, he pulled his hood back over his head and melded seamlessly into the crowd. Bakugou tried his best not to snicker. Despite the part of him that was being rubbed the wrong way by someone who was supposed to be weak(he couldn’t be saved by someone weak, he had to be strong, he had to be a hero) telling him to forget about the Quirkless kid, another part that sounded suspiciously like his missing childhood acquaintance told him to at least thank the emo. Sighing as his guilty conscience gnawed away at his pride, Bakugou kept an eye on the bitter Pro-Heroes before leaving himself, tracking the tattered hood of the confident sonuvabitch before he could get too far. 

He put on a burst of speed when a cry of alarm came from a paramedic noticing his absence at last, smirking when he managed to slip through the crowd just as easily as Frosty the Emo, but the brief sense of satisfaction flickered and died when he found All Might, of all people, conversing with the stranger. Hiding around a corner, he strained his ears to hopefully catch a hint of the conversation going on, only to have his instincts sound the alarm when a guttural noise escaped the throat of the person he had been trailing. Peeking slightly, he watched with a mixture of horror and awe when a gloved hand flipped off the Number One Hero. All Might seemed to be equally shocked, but before he could say anything, the next noise that came out of the emo’s mouth stopped him in his tracks. Bakugou wasn’t surprised. It was a sound more suited to have come from an animal rather than a human. Coughing awkwardly, the Pro-Hero crouched down, jumping away to who-knows-where. With the adult gone, the miasma of death around the white-haired teenager abruptly vanished, and he felt a pang of pity despite how the other had been inches away from launching himself at All Might like a feral beast. 

“You gonna come out from behind that corner or do you need an invitation?” 

“You gonna be a bitch like earlier or actually act like a civilized human being?”

“Big talk coming from the oversized pomeranian, neh  _ Kacchan _ ?”

He fought down the urge to immediately lunge forward and blast that smug face into oblivion. Still, he allowed sweat to collect in the palms of his hands before ekking out a response through gritted teeth. 

“Where did you hear that name? Talk quickly or you won’t be talking at all.” 

Red shoes tapped against each other, “Us Quirkless have to stick together. Especially since no one else will stick their neck out to help us. Midoriya Izuku was my friend. Which is more than I can say about you, isn’t it  _ Kacchan _ ? The perfect candidate for being a hero aren’t ya? Great Quirk, great intellect...but just  _ horrible _ attitude problems.” he ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head slightly. Bakugou tried to find a proper comeback, but nothing more than a hastily growled “fuck off” came from his lips. It was true after all. Ever since Deku had disappeared, it had been something that had haunted him for many, many nights.  _ What if I had been just a little bit kinder? What if I had just tried to be his friend?  _ Questions like those never stopped eating away at him, little bits of guilt taking form inside his psyche. Grinding his jaw, he suppressed the urge to lash out, knowing that it would only prove that this asshole was right. So he swallowed his pride once more, asking the question that had never left his mind since  _ then _ . 

“What happened to Deku?”

A somber smile doused his hope like someone putting out a fire with a pressurized hose. Damnit. God. Fucking. Damnit. 

“Izuku has been dead for quite some time now. I’m sorry,” he stepped towards the frozen blond and placed a hand on his shoulder, “take care of yourself. And get checked out, considering how slime in the lungs can and will kill you.” Bakugou batted the hand away half-heartedly, still absorbing the fact that he would never get the chance to apologize for being a complete asshole. He huffed, ignoring the burning sensation pricking at the corner of his eyes. 

“I didn’t need your help then, and I definitely don’t need your help now.”

“Needing help doesn’t make you weak Bakugou. It just means you’re strong enough to admit that you have flaws like the rest of us mortal beings.” 

His part said, the other teenager turned around to leave, and before he could let his pride take over again, Bakugou managed to spit out more sentences without choking on the unpleasant feeling in his chest. 

“Hey emo, you going to apply to UA?” 

“Naturally. I have promises to keep.” 

Bakugou nodded, awkwardly shuffling his feet before responding once more, “I’ll see you there.” 

The white-haired boy turned just enough to reveal a face marked by burn scars and a smile so very reminiscent of another person he once knew. He swallowed, throat suddenly dry at the resemblance. 

“I had my reservations about you, Bakugou Katsuki, but it seems like Izuku was right. There is a functional human being underneath all that bluster and rage. Don’t disappoint us.”

* * *

Later, while he was busy being fussed over by the old hag when a sudden realization struck, causing him to facepalm and immediately start another round of getting looked over. 

He forgot to ask for the fucking emo’s name. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey I actually managed to write something! This is a more dialogue heavy chapter, featuring a Bakugou that’s more shaken up by the death of one Midoriya Izuku. Imma be real honest with you all. I hate the way Bakugou and Endeavour are silently redeemed in canon. It pisses me off. So, I present to you a Bakugou with actual emotions, who suffered from his own guilt ever since this Midoriya killed himself. Make no mistake, he still has a long way to go before he fully grows as a person. Still, I’d like to think that the cruelty exhibited by children comes about because of how they were taught when growing up, more specifically their parents and teachers. Call this a social experiment. If I remove everything that inflated Bakugou’s ego and instil in him a sense of responsibility for the death of an innocent, whhat will happen then? Nevertheless, tell me what you think. Leave a comment so that I can get positive reinforcement for once in my life, and see you all next time. 
> 
> Also fuck Endeavour. He can die in a fire for all I care.


End file.
